


You Make My Heart Beat

by Nekomata58919



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I didn't tag everyone but you can bet I'm going to try to get as many characters in here as possible, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekomata58919/pseuds/Nekomata58919
Summary: Jim Gordon is on his way to Gotham, excited for his new job at the GCPD, when the world ends and the dead rise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! It's been a while since I've done a Gobblepot fic. So, to make up for it, this is probably going to be super long, and full of all the feels! >:D Also, can you tell I was inspired by The Walking Dead? I don't know if I made it obvious enough, lol.  
> Also, this is for the Gobblepot Halloween 2018 event. Prompts being: Monster and Virus. 
> 
> Thank you so much to thekeyholder for betaing this!!! You're the best!

         Jim Gordon swore as the car rattled and clanked to a stop on the side of the road. He smacked the steering wheel and leaned back in his seat. “Of course.” Jim pulled out his cellphone, but there was no signal.

         “Now what?” Barbara sighed, crossing her arms. “Are there any gas stations nearby?”

         “I don’t know,” Jim replied.

         Barbara rolled her eyes.  _ “Okay,  _ then go look,” she snapped.

         Resisting the urge to make a retort, Jim pushed open the door and climbed out. He placed a hand over his eyes and squinted out at the empty road.

         They had traveled for almost two days now, trying to reach Gotham where he would be joining the Gotham City Police Department. Except, all transportation in and out of Gotham and Detroit had been shut down. Not only that, most of the roads had been blocked by crashed cars and army vehicles. To make matters worse, all the news stations were being incredibly vague about what, exactly, was causing the problem. Jim couldn’t even get answers from former army buddies. But now they were on some back road trying to find a way back onto the highway.

         Jim frowned and looked back at Barbara. “I’m going to check up ahead. I’ll be right back. Keep the doors locked until I get back.”

         “Fine,” Barbara said. Once he shut the door, she locked them and then promptly pulled out one of her art books from the glove compartment, tapping her high-heeled foot against the curve of the floor under the dashboard.

         Rolling his eyes, Jim started to walk. A crisp autumn breeze rustled the changing leaves on the trees lining the road, sending a few twirling to the ground. It had just rained recently, if the scent of petrichor was anything to go by, though it had faded enough to allow the sharp peaty notes of dead leaves to take over.

         He came to a stop at a fork in the road. Jim rested his hands on his hips. Looking both ways, he decided to head down the road heading right. Better than going straight for forever. A blue-jay zipped overhead and a couple of crows cawed in the distance. Jim’s polished shoes crunched over the red and yellow leaves scattered over the gravel.

         Jim was about to give up and go back to the car when he finally spotted a sign through the trees. His brisk walk turned into a jog. He breathed a sigh of relief when the gas station came into view. Except, as he got closer, that relief turned into foreboding.

         There were a bunch of abandoned cars parked haphazardly in the parking lot and around the pumps. Making his way around them, Jim saw one door was smashed open, and the other was propped open with a rock.

         Jim stepped carefully over the glass and into the gas station. Under the flickering fluorescent lights, he could see the place had been ransacked. There were a few magazines left, as well as some cigarettes, some packages of candy, and windshield cleaners. “Hello?” he called.

         There was no answer.

         He searched the entire store, but there was no-one there. The only sign that someone had been there recently were the drops of still wet blood on the cracked tile floor. Jim followed the trail back outside where it disappeared. Maybe they had a working car or something and had driven off. He returned to the store and, with a bit of searching, found a gas can. Jim felt bad about stealing, but there wasn’t much else he could do. The gas station had been abandoned and he and Barbara needed it. With only some hesitation, he grabbed a crowbar from behind the counter. Just in case the car gave them any other troubles.

         Jim siphoned the gas from what cars he could and headed back.

         A man was smacking at the doors of the car when Jim finally made it back. “Hey!” he shouted, breaking into a run. “Hey! Get away from there!”

         The man turned.

         Jim froze.

         Glazed, white eyes stared unblinkingly at him as the...  _ thing _ staggered towards him, jaw hanging loose and blood oozing from its chest. It reached out bloody, palled hands and snarled.

         Jim dropped the gas can and swung the crowbar hard as the monster lunged. It stumbled back, but then tried again. He brought the crowbar down on the thing’s head and it dropped. Jim smashed into it over and over again until it stopped moving and its head was nothing but mush.

         Barbara’s scream was audible through the glass when Jim knocked on the door. When she saw it was him, though, she scrambled across the seats and unlocked it. “You scared me, you bastard!” she shouted, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

         “I’m sorry,” Jim said, “what the hell was that?”

         “Do you think I know? It just showed up and started smacking at the windows!” Barbara shook her head. She tried to look around him. “Is it dead?”

         Passing a hand over his mouth, Jim nodded. “Yeah. It’s dead.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then turned to go fetch the gas. When he turned back, Barbara had left the car and was looking at the corpse from afar. “Get back in the car.”

         Barbara rolled her eyes. “It’s dead, like you told me. I just wanted to know what it was.”

         “Fine, you’ve seen it, now let’s go,” Jim told her, going to fill up the car. She huffed at him, but got back inside. Once he’d gotten enough gas in, the tossed the can in the trunk and the bloody crowbar into the backseat, and they got back onto the road.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         After driving along between flat open fields and only seeing two other cars going in the opposite direction, Jim was ready to stop. He needed to know what was going on. They passed a sign telling them they’d entered some town called Willard, and Jim hoped there was a police station nearby. That would be one place he might be able to get some information.

         Jim turned to Barbara, who was staring out the window looking bored. “I’m going to drive around this place for a bit. I want to see if I can find a police station.”

         “Sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Barbara replied. “Maybe from there you can contact the GCPD. Hopefully they’ll understand why you’re late.”

         “Look, I know you aren’t enjoying this road trip, but I’m doing my best to get us there,” Jim said, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

         Barbara blinked, then reached out and rested a hand on his thigh. “Jim. I’m sorry, I know. I guess I just thought this would be simpler?” She smiled ruefully at him. “I’ll try not to snap at you any more.”

         “Thanks.”

         Jim frowned as they drove further into Willard. Passing gas stations, restaurants, and shopping centers, they all looked so...empty. Dead. There were cars here and there, but no people. Many of the places were as trashed as the gas station from before. Not only that, but many of the roads here were blocked by cars and trucks, some overturned and others smashed into poles and signs. There were a few times where, in the distance, he thought he saw movement. But he wasn’t entirely sure.

         He slowed when they reached an intersection. Trusting his gut, Jim took a left. They passed a school and several ranch houses. Traveling down the back roads of the residential area, Jim had expected to see people, but it was quiet. There were a couple of cars here and there. A lawnmower left on a front lawn, a big red ball on another. Then he saw someone.

         The person trudged around the side of a two-story house. They were hunched and were walking with a limp. Jim slowed. It was hard to make out whether it was a man or woman as they walked in and out of the dappled shade from the maple and oak trees.

         “Jim… I don’t think we should stop,” Barbara said, biting her lip.

         “But they could be hurt,” Jim replied, already stopping the car and unbuckling.

         Barbara grabbed his arm. “Or they could be dangerous. We haven’t seen anyone up until now, and then suddenly there’s one? Just one?”

         He sighed. Jim shot one last look at the person before buckling again. “Fine. But I’ll let the police know there’s someone out here who might be hurt.”

         Barbara nodded and released his arm.

         Jim glanced in the rear view mirror as he started driving. He watched the person stagger across the road and over to another house. He hoped there was someone in there who could help. Turning down another road, it wasn’t long before he came across a police station. “Thank god. I was worried we’d be looking forever.”

_          “You _ were worried?” Barbara said with an amused huff.

         Chuckling, Jim pulled into the station and got out. When Barbara also got out, Jim frowned. “You should really wait in the car. We don’t know what the situation here is.”

         Barbara scoffed. “I’ve been in that car for way too long. I need to stretch my legs. Besides, it’s the police station, surely it’s safer than the car.” She gave a dismissive wave and headed around to the front of the squat brick building.

         Jim hurried after her and stopped her from heading inside. “Fine, okay. But I’ll go first.” Ignoring Barbara’s eye roll, he opened the door and led the way in. The station was quiet too. All the lights were off and the place was a mess, the smell of stale coffee hung in the air.

         “What is going on?” Barbara asked, her voice a whisper as if unwilling to disturb the silence.

         “I don’t know. This was what that gas station was like too.” The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stood on end. He wished he had brought the crowbar with him.

         The sound of someone banging on a door echoed down the hallway. Jim’s hand shot out to block Barbara’s path. He pressed his finger to his lips, and crept down the hall towards the source of the noise. Jim stopped in front of a door; the plate hanging crooked from the top indicated it was a storage closet.

         He tried the door knob, but it was locked.

         “Hello?” Jim called. “I’m going to get you out of there!”

         The banging increased, shaking the door and rattling the door knob.

         Jim took a couple of steps back and kicked at the door. Again, again, and again. Finally, the door swung open.

         A woman surged forward from the closet, sending Jim sprawling to the floor.

         “Jim!”

         Hacking and snarling, the woman’s jaws gnashed, trying to get a bite at his arm. Jim rolled, threw her off, and clambered to his feet. The woman stood up and swiped at him. “Shit, another one!?” Jim dodged her attacks, and kicked her in the stomach. She toppled to the ground.

         “Jim, here!” Barbara shouted.

         Jim caught whatever it was she tossed—a stapler—and smacked the thing in the face with it. It growled, snapping at him again. “Get something else!” Jim shouted, just barely able to fend her off. There was an enraged scream, and before Jim could figure out what was going on, a broom handle shoved through the thing’s head, splattering him with blood.

         The body slid off the handle and crumpled to the floor. Barbara stood behind it, panting and wild-eyed. She dropped the broom, turned, and threw up.

         Jim quickly pulled her hair out of the way and gently rubbed her back. “Hey, it’s okay.”

         “No, it’s not.” Barbara wiped at her mouth and glared at him over her shoulder. Then she frowned down at herself. “Ugh! This dress is ruined...”

         Of course. Well, Jim supposed it was better to be worried about that than freaking out over killing someone. Something. Jim shook his head and crouched down by the body. Given the uniform, she used to be a police officer. He patted her down, and felt a little of the stress lessen when he found some keys. “Well, there’s some good news. We might be able to get some guns while we’re here. That way I’ll be ready next time if one of these...” Jim trailed off. Were they people? Just sick? But the man from before had definitely looked dead. But that couldn’t be right. “We’ll be ready next time.”

         Jim and Barbara searched the entire station. He grabbed the three guns left, bullets, and two walkie-talkies, along with a flashlight and some batteries from the storage closet. He turned on the walkie and switched through the channels, listening for anything that might be helpful. But it was all static. Jim turned to Barbara and handed her one. “Take this. I don’t know what’s going on, but if we get separated for any reason, we can contact each other with these.”

         Barbara opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment, then nodded and took it. “Hopefully we won’t.”

         “Yeah.” Jim led the way to the front door and paused. There were several people wandering along the street. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere in particular...and they walked with a strange lurching gait.

         “Are they monsters too?” Barbara asked, brow furrowed.

         “I think so,” Jim said. “If we’re quiet, we might be able to get to the car without being noticed.”

         When Barbara nodded, Jim carefully opened the door. They crept outside and, keeping close to the side of the building, snuck towards the back where they’d parked. The low growling echoed after them, but it didn’t seem like they’d been noticed. Jim and Barbara got in the car and quickly drove off.


	2. Chapter 2

         “Come on, Mother, just a little further,” Oswald insisted, leading the way down the road to a small, two-story cottage. Their bags slung over his shoulder slowed him down just a bit.

         “Oswald, I still don’t understand why you want us to stay in this... _ hovel,” _ Gertrud simpered. She looked at the house and sniffed disdainfully. “The hotel wasn’t  _ much _ better, but it was better.”

         It was difficult to keep his temper in check, but for Mother, he had to. Oswald knew she didn’t quite understand what was happening. Hell,  _ he _ didn’t really understand what was happening, but he knew enough that people out there were changing. Into  _ what _ he didn’t know. But it was dangerous. “It’s just for tonight. I promise.”

         Gertrud didn’t look happy, but she started walking again. “This is why we shouldn’t have left Gotham. I wasn’t sick, but you worry too much, my Oswald. And what happened? We were turned away.”

         Oswald stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. He peered through the windows, and the place seemed empty. He tried the door, but it was locked. Oswald pursed his lips. How annoying. He plucked a cufflink from his shirt and crouched in front of the door.

         “Oswald!” Gertrud exclaimed, scandalized. “You stop that this instant! You are  _ not _ some criminal.”

         “We don’t have a choice, Mother,” Oswald said. The lock clicked and he pushed open the door.

         “I have failed! To think I raised a son who would stoop to picking a lock like some lowlife,” Gertrud bemoaned as she followed him into the house, shutting the door behind them.

         The floorboards creaked as they walked through the house, and it smelled like old perfume and mothballs. Moonlight filtered through the windows, giving just enough light to see by. The cream colored wallpaper was bright in spots where picture frames had hung until recently, and dust had yet to gather on anything. So whoever lived here had left maybe only a day or two ago. Oswald checked the kitchen, and found mostly spices and herbs, along with a can of corn and a box of Wheat Thins in the pantry. The fridge was empty, but the sink worked, so water at least wasn’t a concern.

         Oswald joined his mother in the living room, where she was looking over the place with a critical eye. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should just go to bed already?” he suggested.

         “If we must,” Getrud sighed.

         “We do,” Oswald said. He headed upstairs and checked the rooms. There were three, and two of them had beds. Well, bare mattresses on a bed frame, but even so. “Mother, I know it’s not ideal, but this is the best we can do. You can choose which room you’d like, of course.”

         Oswald settled on the mattress in the smaller room. It smelled a little musty and he’d have much preferred the hotel, but that place had been overrun with those  _ freaks. _

         They had gone down to Philadelphia for his Mother. Gotham was their home, and Oswald loved it, but it didn’t have what she needed. So Oswald had saved up the money he made as a dishwasher at a fancy Italian restaurant and as an umbrella boy for a club owner named Fish Mooney. He had convinced his mother to go. But when they arrived, Oswald had been told the money he had wasn’t enough. So he and Mother returned to the hotel to pack up and go back home.

         He shuddered, remembering the screams as people tried to flee the hotel. The wet crunches and ripping sounds as the freaks took chunks out of people. Swarmed and devoured them. The putrid stench of rotten meat and the tang of blood thick in the air.

         Wrinkling his nose, Oswald rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his arms. At least Mother hadn’t seen the worst of it. He’d had to push people aside, sometimes right into the waiting mouth of a monster, in order to clear the way for them. It was worth it, if his mother didn’t have to deal with the horror.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         Oswald slammed the door of yet another broken down car. He wished he knew how to jump start them, but he’d never learned. Of all the many useful skills he had, none of them were of use to him right now.

         “Don’t slam doors, Oswald,” Gertrud scolded. She reached out and adjusted his tie. “You are upset. Tell me what is wrong.”

         “Nothing is wrong, Mother. Just...” Oswald sighed. “I feel terrible for making you walk for so long. I only wish I could get one of these cars working.”

         Tutting, Gertrud cupped his face. “My sweet boy is too good to me,” she cooed with a smile. “Don’t you worry about the cars. I am sure someone will pick us up eventually.”

         They continued along the highway. Oswald had no idea what had happened, but the roads were packed with abandoned cars. Some, at least, were unlocked and contained snacks or water. He stored what they didn’t eat in their luggage, which he continued to carry over one shoulder. Oswald wasn’t going to give up. He would continue hoping one of them would still have a key in the ignition and some gas.

         He spotted one car up ahead that seemed promising. The doors were all shut and it didn’t look particularly damaged. Oswald approached and peered inside.

         A rotting hand smacked against the glass.

         Oswald jumped back with a shout. One of those freaks pressed against the window, growling and snapping her jaws. Heart pounding, he realized the thing wasn’t able to get out. He leaned closer. The freak was buckled inside and, for whatever reason, didn’t seem capable of thinking of unbuckling herself. It took him only a few moments to see that the freak was a child. Or had been. It squirmed in the backseat, still snarling and clawing at the window.

         “Oh! Oswald, quick, let the poor girl out,” Gertrud gasped.

         “No!” Oswald grabbed his mother’s wrist, preventing her from opening the door. “That’s not a girl. Not any more.”

         Gertrud frowned at him. “Don’t be cruel. The poor dear will die in there all alone.”

         “I think she’s already dead,” Oswald said and pulled her away from the car.

         “The exhaustion is getting to you. She is clearly alive,” Gertrud protested. “But perhaps her parents are nearby.” She shook her head and looked back at the car. “Such bad parents. I would never do such a thing to you.”

         Oswald refrained from pointing out that she had, once, done exactly that and didn’t even know it. He didn’t blame her, of course. He knew she wasn’t well. But she still loved him, and that was what mattered. “I know, Mother.”

         The near silence as they walked was broken by the low groaning of a crowd. Oswald looked back over his shoulder, past his mother, and his jaw dropped.

         An entire  _ herd _ of freaks was coming up behind them. There had to be hundreds. All shambling closer, snarling and gurgling and growling.

         “Oh god!” Oswald gripped Gertrud’s hand tighter and began to run. “Run! Mother, we have to run!”

         Gertrud stumbled into a jog. “Oswald, what on earth are you doing?”

         Running in a three-piece suit was difficult enough, but trying to drag along his mother who was wearing a full-length dress and heels made it near impossible. “Mother, please!  _ Run!” _

         She looked about ready to argue, but with an insistent tug, Gertrud started to run.

         The herd advanced quicker than expected. Oswald had to let go to squeeze between an SUV and a truck that had stopped too close together. Gertrud looked at the space with a dubious frown. Oswald reached out and she grabbed his hand. She pressed between the vehicles, frown deepening when her dress ripped at the bottom.

         “AH!” Gertrud screamed. She yanked her arm from the mouth of one of the freaks that had gotten close.

         “Mother!” Oswald shouted, pulling hard. She made it through, but he went stumbling backwards. His back hit a truck and he toppled to the ground. The truck wobbled and a metal rod it had been carrying rolled off.

         Oswald wailed in pain as the metal crashed onto his leg with a sickening crack. Crying, he willed himself to sit up and push the thing off. Gertrud was at his side, babbling in Hungarian. While Oswald wasn’t fluent, he knew by the tone she was distressed. Despite the pain he reassured her that he was fine; however, he was proven wrong when he tried to stand.

         Pain shot up his leg, nearly making him fall again. The threat of the freaks—which were still coming—made him suck it up. “Come on, Mother. We have to keep going.” He took her good arm and they tried to hurry along the highway.

         A big green sign up ahead revealed an exit. Oswald led Gertrud over and down the ramp, and to his relief the sounds of the freaks began to fade. They stumbled along the curve and down onto a new road. Oswald looked around wildly. He needed to find them someplace to rest. Someplace that had medicine or bandages at the very least. A hospital would be best, but Oswald wasn’t seeing any signs for one as the two hobbled down the road.

         Oswald looked down at his mother’s bitten arm. It was bleeding, though it wasn’t a very deep bite. He didn’t have to worry about her bleeding out at least. His leg was killing him, but he didn’t have the option of complaining. It would only upset Gertrud further and they wouldn’t get anywhere like that.

         Red and gold leaves floated from the trees, joining the light covering on the cracked asphalt. There was no breeze, but the air itself was edging into cold. A little blue sign showed that a McDonald’s was somewhere up ahead, along with a Dairy Queen, a Shell gas station, and an Olive Garden.

         “It looks like we’ll be heading into a town,” Oswald said. “We can look for bandages there.”

         Gertrud smiled up at him. “You are so smart. I don’t know what I would do without you,  _ drágaságom.” _

         Oswald couldn’t stop the little flash of pride, but he quickly swept it away. He needed to concentrate. He stayed alert, always watching, listening, as they made their way into town.

         The town was dead. Whatever life there had been looked interrupted. Empty cars sat at intersections, waiting for a light that would never change, shopping carts were tipped over in the parking lot of a shopping center, a door to a restaurant swung freely from its hinges. There were a cluster of freaks gathered around...something just outside the Dairy Queen.

         Gertrud opened her mouth to call out to them, but Oswald cut her off with his hand.

         “We have to be quiet. Those aren’t people, Mother,” Oswald said. He pulled his hand away at her glare. “Please. Let’s just get to the pharmacy over there?” He pointed at the little pharmacy in the shopping center.

         She huffed at him, but allowed him to lead her over to the pharmacy.

         When they got to the door, Oswald peered in through the glass. It was dark inside, but he couldn’t see any movement. He pulled open the door, wincing as the bell tinkled overhead. Unfortunately he wasn’t tall enough to stop it. Oswald waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and reached out for a shelf. Using them, instead of his Mother, to prop himself up, Oswald explored the pharmacy.

         Though the place had clearly been looted, there were still things left. The most important of which were bandages and some disinfectant. Oswald grabbed some and beckoned his mother over. He held her wounded arm with one hand, and used the other to pour the disinfectant on. She hissed, but didn’t pull away. Oswald quickly wrapped her arm and stowed the rest of the bandages in his bag.

         “I still think you could have been a doctor,” Gertrud remarked, kissing his cheek. “You are smarter and more caring than any of those frauds in Gotham.” She looked at his leg. “What will we do about your poor leg?”

         Oswald shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do. I’ll be alright, though. We just need to find a place to rest.”

         Gertrud gave a skeptical hum, but she followed him through the pharmacy. And though she looked disapproving of Oswald’s theft of what medicines and supplies he could carry, she said nothing. Maybe she’d finally realized they didn’t have much of a choice.

         Though his leg was killing him, Oswald checked behind the counter for anything else useful. Some needles, prescription medication, and an empty cash register. Pursing his lips, Oswald scanned the area one last time. And his gaze landed on a pair of scissors. Not the best, but they could work as a weapon if he got desperate. It was certainly better than wandering around unarmed.

         Oswald snatched them up and they left the pharmacy.

 

         It was late in the night by the time they found a small Best Western. It was mostly clear, only a few freaks were ambling through the back parking lot. The power was out inside, so the rooms were off the table. Oswald did, however, manage to get them into the back office.

         With only a little bit of arguing, Oswald convinced his mother to take the couch. He settled in the high-backed office chair and sighed. His leg still hurt like hell, but not standing on it gave him some relief.

         Oswald looked over at Gertrud, and his brows furrowed. There was sweat gathered on her brow, and she seemed more out of breath than she should have been. But she was close to falling asleep, so whatever the problem was might be gone in the morning. He was glad he’d taken more disinfectant just in case, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments everyone! I really appreciate them!

         “It’ll be faster to just go through the city,” Barbara said, gesturing angrily at the buildings in the distance. She’d been in an even fouler mood ever since she’d realized she couldn’t change out of her soiled dress due to all her clothes being in the U-Haul headed for Gotham. And the fact that Jim refused to stop so they could get something else for her to wear didn’t help either.

         Jim sighed. “But it could be even more dangerous,” he replied. “I don’t know what’s going on with some of the people we’ve come across, but if something is affecting even small towns, a city is going to be much worse.”

         Barbara shook her head. “Then just drive fast. Besides, we’ll be in the car. No-one will be able to get at us.”

         His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, to the point that his fingers started to cramp. Jim knew she had a point, but still, he felt uneasy about going through the city. The weight of the gun in his belt was some small measure of comfort. There were about ten bullets in it. The other two had fourteen between them. Fine, if he knew what to expect then he supposed they might as well just go for it.

         “Look, if anyone can get us through there, it’s you,” Barbara said, squeezing his arm. She leaned closer. “If we keep taking back roads, who knows how long it will take to get to Gotham. That’s a city too, Jim. We don’t know what’s going on there, so it’s better to see what we might need to expect. Right? Besides, maybe the city is fine.”

         Jim nodded, his grip relaxing a fraction. “Yeah, okay.” He started up the car again and headed for Pittsburgh.

         Almost immediately they could see the city was not fine. The streets were clogged with broken down vehicles, bodies, and the undead. Jim had to drive up onto sidewalks more than once. He glanced at Barbara. Her brows were drawn together, lips thinned, and she was digging her nails into her palms.

         “Oh,” Barbara muttered, looking out the window. Jim could see from his own side exactly what had bothered her.

         As they drove carefully over the bridge crossing the Ohio River, they could see bodies floating in the water. Some were completely still, while others looked to be more of those monsters. Jim hoped no-one downriver planned on drinking from it. He could only imagine the disease it now carried.

         “Shit!” Jim swore as one of the monsters flung itself at the windshield. It growled and scrabbled at the glass with blood crusted nails. One of its fingers was missing completely. Jim swerved, sending it rolling off to the ground. The car rocked as he drove over it and smacked into another.

         Barbara grimaced and pushed herself back in her seat. “How in the world did this happen? Where  _ is _ everyone?”

         “I wish I knew,” Jim said. He looked into the rear-view mirror and a cold dread crept up his spine. There were hundreds of dead following them. If the chewed on bodies were anything to go by, they did  _ not _ want to be caught by those.

         The car groaned and sputtered and clanked as they came to Baum Boulevard. Then stopped.

         “No.” Jim smacked the steering wheel and tried the stick shift. Nothing. “No!” He turned to look through the back window. The horde of dead were getting closer. “We have to run.” Without giving Barbara time to complain, he grabbed the crowbar from the backseat, handed her the two other guns, and shoved open the door.

         They stumbled out into the streets and Jim led Barbara down an alley.

         “Jim, wait! Where are we going?” she demanded.

         “I don’t know, but if we can lose that herd, then one of our problems will be solved,” Jim said over his shoulder. Snarling, a corpse crawled out from under pallets and trash. It grabbed at Jim’s ankles. He smashed its head in with the crowbar and kept going. “Keep an eye out,” he warned. “But don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to.”

         As quietly as possible, they moved through the alleyways until they made it to another street. Jim had tried to keep them going straight ahead and not going in circles. Still, he couldn’t be sure. They passed a Whole Foods, several restaurants and bars, and various shops. They had to sprint across a street and between two buildings to avoid another herd.

         A glass bottle shattered on the ground in front of him. Jim jumped back and looked up. “What the hell?”

         “Whoops!” a bearded man shouted down from a window on the third story of a stone building. “Damn! Living people! I was starting to think I was the only one left.”

         Jim frowned. The guy seemed a little drunk, but honestly, he was the first person they’d seen since this had all started. He glanced at Barbara before turning his attention to the man. “What are you doing up there?”

         The man shrugged. “Got stuck. That herd out there was really a pain in my ass. Almost literally. Figured I’d wait it out,” he replied.

         “Jim, maybe we should just keep going,” Barbara whispered. “Before he draws any of those monsters to us.”

         Jim shook his head. “I think we could at least talk to him.” He looked up at the man again. “Can we come up?”

         “Sure. You can try, anyway. I don’t know if the front door is blocked or not,” the man said. He leaned precariously out of the window, one hand on his hat, and the other pointing back the way they came. “If you go that way and take a right, the door should be right there. Good fucking luck!”

         Jim led the way back down the alley and around to the front. He stopped short and ducked down behind the wall. He turned to Barbara and mouthed, “Dead by the door.”

         Barbara nodded and stayed back.

         Looking both ways down the sidewalk, and seeing no other corpses walking around, Jim crept out from around the wall. There were three, and he managed to down one with the crowbar, but the other two were alerted. Jim fended off the second and was lucky enough to break the leg of the third as he twisted away. He shoved his shoulder into the remaining one, sending it stumbling back, and swung the crowbar into its face.

         “Is it over?” Barbara asked, peeking around the corner.

         Trying not to breathe in the smell of rotting flesh, Jim nodded. “Yeah.” The door was a little stuck, but with some effort Jim managed to pull it open. Once Barbara slipped inside, he shoved it closed again. They wouldn’t want any surprise visitors.

         After heading up a short flight of stone steps and through another set of doors, they entered a large lobby. The wooden front desk was abandoned, as were the simple black couches and mustard yellow chairs. Things were scattered across the tiled floors.

         They managed to find the stairs fairly easily. Jim headed up first, wincing at every echo of his footsteps on the stone steps. He really hoped the place was empty. Though he supposed if that guy was still alive up there it had to be. Still, it felt like every small noise was a million times louder than it should be.

         When they reached the third story, Jim had to pause. There were a lot of doors and he wondered if they were meant to knock on each of them until they found the guy. He looked at Barbara. “You take the left side and I’ll get the right?” he suggested.

         “We can’t just shout for him?” Barbara asked with an arched eyebrow.

         “No, what if there are others in here? Or more of those things?” Jim replied, frowning.

         Barbara sighed and nodded. The two made their way down the hall, knocking on each door. Most were empty, though a snarl came from one Barbara knocked on. Luckily, the door was locked. Jim was getting frustrated, until he got a muffled response from one near the end. After a second the door opened, revealing the bearded man from before.

         The guy was a little taller than Jim, his beard and lengthy auburn hair were starting to gray. If it weren’t for the suit beneath his leather jacket, he could have been mistaken for some kind of vagrant. He did reek of booze, though, so maybe he was.

         “Hey, you made it,” the guy smirked. He stepped back and gestured for them to come in.  _ “Mi casa es tu casa, _ or whatever.”

         Jim glanced at Barbara, and they stepped inside. “Uh, thanks,” he said, hearing the door click shut behind them. “I’m Jim Gordon, and this is my fiance, Barbara.”

         The man looked Barbara over, much to her annoyance, and then grinned at Jim. “Well, Jimbo, you’re one lucky guy.” He held out a hand. “Harvey Bullock.”

         With only some hesitance, Jim shook his hand. “So, what are you doing here?”

         Harvey held out his hand to Barbara. She gave him an unimpressed look and walked around him. Stepping over empty beer and whiskey bottles with a wrinkle of her nose, Barbara explored the hotel room. Not that there was much to see. It was narrow, most of the space was taken up by the rather flat looking bed, a red couch, and one tiny table with two metal chairs. For how fancy the outside of the hotel was, the inside was...disappointing. Especially to Barbara, who looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.

         “Well, let’s see,” Harvey muttered, clearly not insulted by Barbara’s rejection. “I was taking a little vacation. Felt like visiting an old friend who lives near here. Or lived near here, I guess. Then the world ended and I got stuck here.”

         Barbara huffed. “And decided to get drunk?”

         Turning, Harvey shrugged. “What else is there to do? Besides, like I said, I got stuck here. I was waiting for those zombies to leave.”

         “Zombies aren’t real,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes. She peered into the little en-suite bathroom, frowned, and went to lean against the wall by the TV.

         “Uh-huh.” Harvey snorted. “If it walks like a zombie, smells like a zombie, and eats like a zombie, it’s a zombie.”

         “Sure,” Barbara said, unconvinced. “And you just decided to what? Drink yourself to death?”

         Harvey chuckled. “This place had a nice bar, one I’d never be able to afford. I’m not gonna pass up that opportunity.” He looked back at Jim. “So, what were you two doing?”

         Jim considered lying for a moment, but Harvey seemed okay. He wasn’t getting any particularly bad vibes from him, anyway. Besides, even if he was drunk, they could use whatever help they could get. Or at least drop the guy off somewhere outside the city. “We’re headed for Gotham. Originally we were going because I got a job as a cop there.”

         “You’re shitting me,” Harvey said, eyes wide. Then he barked out a laugh. “Small world! I worked at the GCPD. You’re the new guy Essen hired?”

         “Yeah,” Jim replied, amazed. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.” He shot a smile at Barbara. “This is great news. We might actually be able to make it to Gotham in one piece.”

         Harvey shook his head and plopped down on the couch by the window. “Nah. If this place has gone to hell, I doubt Gotham’s much better.”

         “And why’s that?” Barbara asked, crossing her arms.

         Laughing again, Harvey took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Gotham’s a shit hole on the best of days. Trust me. During the apocalypse? It’s gonna be a nightmare. If it hasn’t been blown sky high.” He looked up at Jim. “You really picked the worst place to work, you know that?” Harvey smirked humorlessly. “Not that there’s a job waiting for you—or me—anymore.”

         Jim frowned and rested his hands on his hips. “So, what, you’re just giving up?” he demanded.

         “Why the hell shouldn’t I?” Harvey retorted, scooping a nearly empty bottle off the floor. “Couldn’t make a difference before, so why try now? If there’s anyone left there, they certainly don’t give a shit about following any rules.”

         That attitude had Jim gritting his teeth. “No.” He jabbed a finger at Harvey. “This is when the city needs us most. If this really is the apocalypse, people need somewhere safe to go. We can’t let society just fall apart.” Jim shook his head and grabbed the beer from Harvey. A sense of purpose filled him. “We’re going to Gotham. And then we’re going to make it a safe haven. We aren’t going down without a fight.”

         Harvey stared at him. He slapped his hands down on his thighs before swaying to his feet. “Might be the booze talking, but what the hell? We could give it a shot.” 


	4. Chapter 4

         Despite the autumn chill, Oswald could see his mother was still sweating. She’d seemed okay that morning, but it hadn’t taken long for that to change.

         “Oswald, I need to rest,” Gertrud said, grabbing Oswald’s arm and making him stop.

         Oswald glanced around. They had ended up somewhere in the country, a few farmhouses dotting the land here and there, but mostly it was empty fields and woods. But Oswald figured it was better than the highway. The open wilderness at least allowed them a chance to see what was coming. And right now that was nothing. “Of course,” he agreed.

         There was really only one place to rest, and that was a boulder and some smaller rocks out in the field they’d been passing. Oswald led her over and she sat, panting. Honestly, he wasn’t doing much better. His leg was killing him, and it was a struggle not to let it buckle every time he walked.

         Gertrud sighed softly, coughed, and shivered. “Where are we, Oswald?”

         Lowering himself onto one of the other rocks, Oswald thought back to the last sign they’d passed. “I think we’re nearing a place called Princeton,” he replied, rubbing his leg. “Maybe there will be people there who can help us.”

         “Relying on other people,” Gertrud scoffed. “The only one I can trust is you, Oswald. Other people always want something. How many times have I told you not to trust anyone else?”

         Oswald closed his eyes. “I know.” He opened them again and looked around. A couple of figures were staggering in their direction. “Alright, Mother, it’s time to keep going.” Oswald stood and helped her up. She was shaking.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         The closer they got to Princeton, the denser the surrounding woods became. It was nerve wracking, especially as the sun began to set. Oswald kept some hope that they were heading into a city. The occasional stone columns and iron gates leading to mini mansions at least indicated they were headed somewhere they might find a lot of supplies. As tempted as he was to loot them, Oswald continued past them.

         Oswald stopped them at a traffic circle. One of the signs was for a Library Rd. “Promising,” he murmured. Oswald looked at Gertrud, who was looking a little ashen. “Mother, this way should lead to a library. That might be a safe place to go.”

         Gertrud nodded, her movements sluggish. She smiled at him. “So smart. I know we’ll make it back to Gotham. You would never let me down.”

         Trying not to show how much pressure that actually put on him, Oswald kissed her cheek. They headed down the suburban street, Oswald keeping a watchful eye out for any freaks. Every once in a while he heard one or two, but luckily the place seemed mostly deserted. By one of the mansions, a dog started barking.

         Oswald had Gertrud wait by the front and crept along towards the back. A fence blocked his view, but the barking was louder. The barking was cut off with a high pitched yip. Silence. Feeling sick, Oswald returned to his mother. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

         They ended up going only a little farther down the street before Oswald spotted a sign for the Morven Museum & Garden. It was a beautiful white colonial style mansion, with columns wrapped in vines, and lots of windows.

         “So beautiful,” Gertrud sighed. She headed for the front door, footsteps crunching along the tiny rocks of the driveway. “Let’s stay here for a little bit. Maybe someone will be inside.”

         Oswald caught up with her, hiding a wince as they stepped up onto the porch, and nodded. He hadn’t seen a library, but a museum could also be good. The front gardens were still well manicured and it didn’t look like there were any freaks out front. He could even smell the sweet flowers that were still alive. The white door was locked, but as before, Oswald picked it open and they entered.

         The walls inside were just as white as the walls outside, and the wooden floors creaked quietly as they walked through the rooms. Oswald noted there was a fireplace in one of the rooms, not that it was cold enough for that. The dining room was still all set up with plates and silverware—except for the knife Oswald slipped into their bags. All the pictures were still up on the walls too, and another room held a baby grand piano. Oswald smiled. Maybe he could play something for Mother, if it was tuned. The stairs looked to be too much for either of them at the moment, so they ended their tour.

         Gertrud settled on a fancy old couch and smiled. “Maybe we should stay here a while, Oswald. It could be our own little mansion. Much better than that dark old apartment you have me living in.”

         Oswald sat beside her and sighed in relief. “You deserve a place like this, but I can’t afford it.”

         “I understand. You try so hard, my sweet boy,” Gertrud cooed, leaning her head on his shoulder. When Oswald patted her hand, he frowned. Her skin was clammy. Something was definitely wrong, but the disinfectant didn’t seem to be working. Oswald didn’t know what else to do except hope it would pass soon.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         Oswald inched the front door open and peered inside. Nothing jumped out at him, so he limped through the open door and began his next search, knife clutched in one hand. He kept a tight grip on the bag that now contained various food and supplies he’d looted from some of the other homes. There wasn’t much left, but anything was better than nothing.

         A crash came from somewhere upstairs. Oswald tensed. He crept into the living room and listened closely. Something clattered to the floor, followed by a loud thud against a wall. Oswald wasn’t sure if he hoped it was a freak or a regular person more. Though at least with a person he might be able to talk his way out of a bad situation.

         From the living room, he made his way through a dining room and into the kitchen. It was quite possibly even bigger than the entirety of the apartment he lived in with his mother. Oswald shook his head and went for the pantry first. There wasn’t a lot, and most of what was there would go bad soon if it hadn’t already done so. Still, he managed to grab some Cheese-its, a bottle of honey, oolong tea bags, and a half empty container of cashews. Oswald picked up a can of tomatoes and frowned. They didn’t really have anything to cook it with. He put it back.

         Oswald stuffed what he could into the bag and stopped in front of the fridge. He doubted there would be anything worth having, but he decided to check anyway. And instantly regretted it. He gagged at the smell of rotting food and slammed the door shut. Annoyed, Oswald limped past the island and back around to the front entry.

         There was a series of repetitive thunks down the stairs and a freak landed in front of Oswald. He stumbled back as it grabbed his ankle. Oswald cried out, landing on his ass on the hardwood floor. The freak snarled. It clawed its way up his body as Oswald scrabbled for the knife he’d dropped. He snatched it up slashed at the freak’s throat.

         Blood burst out, spraying Oswald in the foul mess. The freak’s teeth clamped down on his sleeve. He jammed the knife into its head and it collapsed on top of him. Panting, Oswald shoved the body off him and rolled out of the way.  _ Just in case. _ However, it seemed like the thing was truly dead. Oswald got to his feet and leaned over the corpse. Still nothing. He grabbed the knife and pulled, but it was firmly lodged in the skull.  _ Just great. _

         Grimacing, Oswald looked up the stairs. The chances of getting up there to clean off were nil. He grabbed the bag of food and limped back into the kitchen. He turned on the sink, and was grateful when it actually worked. His suit was ruined, but Oswald managed to clean his face and hands. He counted that as a win. Unfortunately, he knew his mother would be upset by the blood he couldn’t clean.

         Oswald sighed and leaned back against the island. With the way things were going, he wasn’t sure if they’d actually make it back to Gotham. He didn’t even know if Gotham was any better; but it was home, which meant it was better than being out here. At least Gotham’s brand of crazy was something he knew how to deal with. Yes, once they got back, Oswald would get them protection. Miss Mooney would have this all under control, and he’d be able to keep Mother safe. He knew if he begged enough and showed how valuable he could be, Miss Mooney would not let them die.

         Looking out the window, Oswald could see the swaying tree branches. A storm was coming. He’d need to get back to the museum sooner rather than later. He picked the bag back up and headed out.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         “Mother?” Oswald called as he shut the museum door. There was no answer. Heart beating rabbit fast in his chest, he limped as fast as he could through the rooms. “Mother!”

         Gertrud was lying on the fancy couch from before, her eyes were closed, and her breaths came out raspy and uneven. At the sound of his approach, her eyes cracked open and she seemed to relax. “Oswald. You’re late,” she muttered. “Have you been out with some floozy?”

         She was delirious. Oswald had told her he was going out to find food, and while she was forgetful at times, it had never been that bad. He hobbled over to her and set the bag down. “No, Mother. I was getting food and water.” Oswald searched through the bag and pulled out a thermos of water. “Here.”

         “Such a good boy, my Oswald,” Gertrud hummed, allowing Oswald to help her sit. She drank some of the water, coughed hard, and sighed. It seemed to help a little because her gaze landed on Oswald’s suit. “Did you get hurt again? Your suit is all filthy.”

         Oswald shook his head. “I’m alright. Nothing to worry about,” he soothed, taking out a box of Ritz. “You need to eat something. These shouldn’t upset your stomach.”

         Gertrud murmured her thanks and took a couple.

         “How...How are you feeling?” Oswald asked.

         “Awful,” Gertrud complained. She shook her head, winced, and patted his hand. “But I will be fine. I’m sure by tomorrow I’ll be perfectly well again.”

         Oswald squeezed her hand and carefully settled on the floor. “I got us enough food for a few days at least. The water was only running in two homes, so we’ll have to make that last,” he explained. He wasn’t sure if any of it was getting through to her, but he needed to fill the air with something other than her rattling breaths.

         He didn’t know what to do. Mother was obviously getting worse, and despite what she said, Oswald knew she wouldn’t get better. Not without medicine. But he hadn’t found anything beyond some aspirin, antidepressants, and vitamins in the homes he’d searched. And it wasn’t as though he knew what would help anyway. Oswald figured he’d have to search out further. Maybe there was a hospital nearby, or at least some people. He was desperate, so despite what he knew and what Mother told him, Oswald would just have to hold out hope that there were good people out there.

 

 

* * *

  
  


         Oswald didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, nor did he know what woke him. Moonlight spilled in through the windows across the floor. He rubbed at his eyes and turned around.

         Gertrud wasn’t moving. At all. She wasn’t breathing.

         “No.” Oswald scrambled to his feet and pressed a hand over her mouth. Nothing. “No, no, no. Mother?” He grabbed her hand and checked her pulse. “No!”

         She was dead.

         “NO!” Oswald shook her. It was no use. Pain lanced his heart and he sobbed. He’d slept through her dying. What if she’d needed him? Oswald collapsed to his knees, his head dropping to her chest. He’d failed her. _ “Mom...” _

         Oswald startled. Gertrud’s fingers twitched again. He sat up. “Mother?” he asked, voice quivering.

         Gertrud’s eyes opened. Her milky-white gaze slowly, slowly, moved onto him. Groaning quietly, she reached up for him.

         “Oh god! Mother, you’re alright,” Oswald gasped, taking her hand. His elation was short lived.

         With a snarl, Gertrud lurched from the couch, swiping at him with her other hand.

         Oswald’s jaw dropped as he darted backwards. “This can’t...no!”

         Growling, his mother staggered after him. She lunged for him again, but Oswald grabbed her arms and struggled to push her back. Gertrud snapped at him, teeth clacking together on open air. With a hard shove, Oswald managed to throw her back against the couch. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he grabbed the bag and hauled it away to look through it. He pulled out the scissors.

         Oswald sidestepped another attack. He grabbed her arm and twisted her around, pulling her back against his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Oswald plunged the scissors into her temple.

         They both dropped to the floor.

         Clutching his mother’s body to him, Oswald wailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! They really do make my day ^_^
> 
> And thanks again to theykeyholder for betaing this. It'd be a mess otherwise, lol.

         “Okay, I think this car might be the one. You two watch my back and I’ll get it running,” Harvey said, throwing open the door to a black car that actually looked like it would fit them all and the supplies they’d managed to scavenge on their way out of Pittsburgh.

         Jim nodded, holding his gun at the ready, while Barbara stood just a little behind him, looking in the other direction. Nothing would be able to sneak up on them. Which, being on an open road, was a good thing.

         Harvey grunted irritably as he hot-wired the car. It took a few moments, but the engine roared to life and he gave a little whoop of victory. “Got it! Let’s go.” They climbed into the car, Harvey taking the wheel with Jim in shotgun, while Barbara slid into the back.

         “You do know the way to Gotham from here, right?” Jim asked as he popped open the glove compartment. He rummaged through various papers and napkins. No map.

         “I know the general direction we gotta head in,” Harvey said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”

         Barbara shook her head. “How very comforting.”

         Jim reached back and patted her knee. “It’s better than not having any idea where we are. We’ll get to Gotham one way or another.” She shoved his hand away and looked out the window. Frowning a little, he turned back and fiddled with the radio. Of course he got nothing but static. Jim hadn’t really been expecting much, though.

         “So,” Harvey started, swerving around a wreck, “I don’t know how much you saw before we met, but you  _ should _ know that if you get bit or scratched by a zombie, that’s it. You’ll die and turn into one of them.”

         “I didn’t know that,” Jim replied. He grimaced. “How long does it take? After you’ve been bitten or scratched?”

         Harvey shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I only saw it happen twice. One guy turned after about three minutes. The other took about an hour.”

         “So there’s really no way to help if someone gets bit?” Barbara asked, brows furrowed in worry.

         “Nope,” Harvey said, shaking his head. “Though, I guess if you got bit on the arm or leg and got it cut off immediately, that might stop it. But I’m not a doctor and I could be wrong.”

         Jim nodded. “No, that actually sounds reasonable.” He caught Barbara’s incredulous look in the mirror. “Obviously, we’re still going to avoid getting bitten or scratched. But if it happens, and it’s something we can try without resorting to killing the person, it’s something to consider.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


         The road ahead was blocked. About three cars spanned the road and an 18-wheeler had tipped over into the embankment on one side, the rusted guardrail had been smashed open. The other side was too steep and so there was only one choice.

         “We’ll push them,” Jim said. He pointed to the car closest to the edge as he and Harvey got out. “If we can shove that one off, then we can move the middle car no problem. The tires are still intact.”

         Harvey groaned. “Yeah, okay. Let’s hope they aren’t too damn heavy.”

         They made their way over to the car nearest the edge and examined it. There wasn’t a lot of room to push against, but they also didn’t have a choice. The other unfortunate bit? It was stuck on top of a zombie. It reached out for them with its remaining arm. From what Jim could see, as soon as they moved the car, it would be split clean in half at the waist.

         “I’ll get it,” Jim said. He smashed the crowbar into its head, and it stilled.

         Harvey gagged. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how nasty that shit is.”

         “Yeah. Trying not to think about it too hard,” Jim agreed. He gestured to Harvey and they began to push against the front of the car. It groaned and squeaked, but eventually they managed to get it scraping across the ground. They gave it a final heave and it tumbled over the edge.

         “Okay, one more,” Harvey muttered, rubbing his back. “That better be it. Feel like an old man.”

         As Jim was about to follow, something caught his attention. “What’s that?”

         “What’s what?”

         Ignoring the question, Jim jogged down the slope after the car. He rounded it and as he got closer, he could see the shape on the riverbank was a person. Despite the fact that it could easily just be a body, or a zombie, something made Jim think that wasn’t the case. He hurried down the little hill. A zombie had also noticed the man in the water, and was ambling out of the trees. Jim whipped out his gun, shot it, and came to a stop by the river.

         “Jim, what the fuck!?” Harvey exclaimed, hurrying after him. “That could’ve drawn more of them this way!”

         Once again, Jim ignored him as he crouched down to get a closer look. “He’s breathing,” he announced. Honestly, he was relieved. He would have felt like an idiot if it had been a zombie.

         “Uh, and?” Harvey asked, breathing heavily as he stopped beside Jim.

         “And that means he needs help,” Jim replied. He rolled the man over onto his back, and stared.

         The man was young, with porcelain pale skin and a shock of black hair that was matted down over his forehead. His prominently beaked nose gave him a bird-like appearance, strangely sharp in comparison to his much softer features.

         Jim shook himself from his appraisal of the man when he noticed the blood coating his suit. “I think he’s hurt,” he told Harvey as he grabbed the young man under the arms and hauled him from the river.

         “So we should just leave him then,” Harvey said, lifting his hat to scratch at his hair. “He’s not our problem.”

         “I thought you were a detective?” Jim retorted. The young man was light, and so it didn’t take much effort to lift him into his arms.

         “I told you: Gotham’s a shit hole. The GCPD isn’t much better than the criminals we catch,” Harvey replied, shrugging. “Seriously, we don’t know who this kid is. Just leave him here. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of supplies as is.”

         Jim strolled past him. Harvey threw his hands up in annoyed surrender, but followed. When they got to the car, Barbara was waiting for them, arms crossed.

         “Who is that?” she demanded. Barbara sounded exasperated as she glared at the man in Jim’s arms.

         “Don’t know,” Jim replied. “Found him in the river. He’s breathing, so we can’t just leave him there.”

         Barbara opened and closed her mouth a few times before sighing. “Is that his blood?” she asked, pointing at the splash of blood across his chest.

         Jim shrugged. “I’m going to take a look.” He draped the man over the hood of their car. Maybe it would help, having been heating up in the sun. Jim couldn’t see any wounds and the shirt wasn’t torn or anything. Still, he had to check. He untied the continental cross tie and unbuttoned his formerly white shirt.

         “Need us to give you two some privacy?” Harvey asked with a smirk.

         Sparing Harvey a quick glare, Jim took a look over the young man’s chest. No wounds, just more milky white skin. “I don’t think he’s been bitten or scratched. The blood must belong to someone or something else.”

         The man’s eyes snapped open as he sucked in a deep breath. Jim pulled away as the man flailed, yelped, and slipped onto the ground. Before anyone could say anything, the man was coughing up water.

         Jim crouched down. “Hey, are you okay?”

         Smacking away the hand that reached for his back, the man scrambled back with a wince. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped, pale blue-green eyes wide with fear and hostility. “Who are you!? Where am I?”

         Jim held up his hands and stayed at a good distance. “I don’t know exactly where we are. There was a sign for a road called Millstone back over the bridge, if that means anything to you,” he explained. At the young man’s blank look, he continued, “I’m Jim Gordon. This is Barbara, my fiancee, and that’s Harvey Bullock.”

         The man’s gaze switched to Harvey and his eyes widened further. “Wait. I know you…”

         Harvey frowned. Slowly, recognition lit up his eyes. And then he frowned harder. “You’re that umbrella boy Fish hired.”

         “Who’s Fish?” Jim asked, narrowing his eyes at Harvey.

         “She owns a nightclub,” Harvey said. Though the way he said it made Jim think there was more she did.

         Barbara huffed. “Well, what are the chances we’d run into two people from Gotham? Jim, don’t you find this at all suspicious?”

         Jim held out his hand for the young man. After a moment of eyeing it, he took it and Jim helped him up. “Not really. A little strange, yeah,” he said. Jim looked the man over.

         “What?” the man demanded, even as he shivered.

         “Do you want to tell us your name?” Jim prompted.

         A moment of silence. “Oswald Cobblepot.” There was a slight hesitation before he held out his hand. “Thank you for saving me.”

         Even as Jim shook his hand, he couldn’t help but notice he didn’t sound especially thrilled about being saved. “We’re headed for Gotham. You could come with us?”

         “Jim!” Barbara and Harvey complained in unison.

         Harvey sneered. “Look, Jimbo, I don’t really know this guy, but if he’s hanging out with Fish Mooney, he’s bad news.”

         Jim had a hard time believing that when Oswald looked little more than a drowned rat. That and his leg was sticking out at an odd angle. “Did you hurt your leg?”

         Oswald looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Then he glanced at his own leg. Lips thinning, he nodded. “Yes. We-I was trying to get away from some freaks. I fell and some metal landed on my leg.”

_          “Jim,” _ Barbara said, tapping her foot.

         Jim turned to her. “He’s hurt, and I don’t see a weapon and there were no bites. I think we’ll be fine bringing him with us.” He looked back at Oswald. “If you want?”

         “...I’d deeply appreciate it,” Oswald replied. His voice was soft and trembled faintly. “Thank you, James.”

         A little taken aback by the formality, Jim just gave him a half-smile and a nod.

         Barbara shook her head and went back to the car. Jim knew he’d have to deal with her anger later. Right now, however, he could see zombies making their way out of the woods. Probably drawn by the gunshot.

         “You can wait in the car. Harvey and I have to finish moving this final car,” Jim said. He turned to Harvey. “We’ll have to be quick about it.”

         Grumbling under his breath, Harvey followed him back to the pileup. Jim stayed on the side with their car, while Harvey went around to the other side. Together they began to push it out of the way. The sounds of snarling got closer.

         “Shit,” Harvey grit out. “Give me the crowbar. I’ll deal with those guys if you keep pushing.”

         Jim tossed him the crowbar. “Careful.” He went back to shoving at the car. It was more of a struggle on his own. Jim glanced back to see Harvey bashing in the heads of the zombies that had gotten too close. In their car, he could see Barbara and Oswald talking. He hoped they were getting along.

         Harvey hurried back and helped him give the car a final push out of the way, and they returned to their car. “Let’s hope we don’t come across any more of that. I am  _ not _ doing it again.”

         “I’m going to have to agree with you on that,” Jim said, rubbing at his shoulder. He was pretty sure it was going to be sore for the rest of the day. As they drove off, Jim looked back at Oswald. “So, how did you end up in the river?”

         Oswald’s lips thinned and he looked at the ground. “I was traveling. The plan was to get to Gotham, of course, but a herd of those  _ things _ showed up.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I was overwhelmed. Honestly, I thought I might die. But I tripped over—over a body and I fell. After that? I don’t know. I must have hit my head or something.” Oswald sighed and pressed his hand to his face. “I dropped all that food.”

         “Damn. That’s some bad luck,” Harvey said. The car bumped as he drove over a zombie. “But hey, the fact that you managed to survive at all with that leg means you might be useful.”

         Jim shot him a look.

         “So,” Oswald said pointedly. “Why are you going to Gotham, James?”

         “It’s just Jim,” Jim replied. “I was going to join the GCPD as a detective.”

         Oswald’s mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’. “I see.” His tone was funny. Conflicted in some way.

         “And what about you, Oswald?” Barbara asked, brow arched. “What is an umbrella boy doing so far from Gotham?”

         The silence after that question was tense, and thick enough to cut with a knife. Oswald clenched the dirtied fabric of his pants. “Making a mistake.” And that was all they were going to get out of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos everyone! I'm so glad people are liking this story. :D

         To say the car ride was awkward was an understatement. Being stuck in a car with  _ two _ detectives and a snobby bitch would do that, Oswald supposed. Mother had always said to never trust the police. And the reminder of his mother had him using every effort to keep from crying again. It was exhausting, but he would  _ not _ show weakness in front of these people again.

         Oswald’s gaze strayed to Jim. He was keeping an eye out for a place to stay for the night. Of course, he and Bullock had wanted to just sleep in the car, but Barbara had insisted on them finding a place with beds. Not that he’d say so out loud, but Oswald agreed. He needed to rest his leg properly.

         Jim Gordon. Something was different about him. He wasn’t like any cop or detective Oswald knew. No, he actually seemed to care. Had saved him. Oswald was actually disappointed that Jim wouldn’t be able to truly join the GCPD. Jim could have made a real difference. A wild assumption, really, but there was just something about Jim that made Oswald want to trust him. And the thought of owing someone a favor at this point was not something he wanted hanging over his head. Especially a cop.

         “Hey, there’s a motel right up there,” Jim announced, tapping Harvey’s arm to get his attention.

         Harvey grinned. “Nice. Hopefully it’ll be empty.” He pulled into the parking lot, drove around a couple of abandoned looking cars, and parked.

         The building was a dark brown wood with a green metal roof. The doors were painted crimson, garish even when slightly faded. Crooked pine trees provided a dark backdrop for the place.

         “Barbara, Oswald, you two should stay here,” Jim said, looking back at them.

         “I can defend myself, you know. Or did you forget the zombie I stabbed?” Barbara huffed.

         Jim raised an eyebrow. “And then you threw up.” He gestured at her dress, causing her to blush and frown.

         Oswald had wondered what that was about. Manners had kept him from asking.

         “That just means I don’t care about ruining it further,” Barbara snapped, getting out of the car before Jim could argue.

         “I can help as well,” Oswald said. The last thing he wanted to do was sit around lost to his thoughts as everyone else picked up the slack.

         Jim sighed. “Fine. But be careful. And stick close.”

         Oswald nodded and they got out of the car.

         They went from door to door, listening for either people or zombies. Or both. Luckily, most seemed empty. The few that were not, well, the doors were locked and seemed like they’d hold for a while.

         “Do you think the second floor would be safest?” Barbara asked. “We’d be able to see if anyone or anything is coming. Or hear them on the stairs.”

         It wasn’t an awful idea, but Oswald could see a potential problem. “Unless we don’t. Then we’ll be trapped with the stairs blocked off. If they don’t collapse on our way up.” He eyed the crooked stairs with a frown.

         Barbara looked at the stairs and frowned. “I see your point.”

         “Alright, so let’s just grab an empty room. Standing out here yapping about it isn’t exactly a great idea either,” Harvey said, heading for the room closest to their car. Before realizing it was locked.

         “I think the check area should have a key,” Jim said.

         Oswald waved him off. “I can open it. No need to risk yourself further.” He limped up to the door and pulled the same trick as he had before. Oswald turned with a proud flourish. “There.”

         Jim’s frown wasn’t exactly what Oswald had expected his response to be. “How do you know how to do that?” he asked.

         Pushing past them, Harvey entered the room. “Doesn’t matter. The room looks clear, even if it smells like shit.”

         “Wonderful.” Barbra strutted after him, nose crinkling in disgust.

         Sighing, Jim shook his head. “I still want to look at the checkout area. Might have some useful items beyond the key.”

         Oswald, despite his protesting leg, piped up. “I’ll help.”

         “No,” Jim said, frowning even more. “You need to rest your leg. I don’t know if there’s really anything we can do to fix it, but walking on it as much as you have been will only make it worse. Harvey can come with me.”

         Harvey groaned and plopped his hat back on his head. “Of course. I don’t need to rest.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


         The front office was surprisingly clean. Well, relatively speaking. It still looked like a roach motel, but it wasn’t crawling with walkers and didn’t appear to be looted. So, clean.

_          “Ugh! _ Nope. Breakfast bar is out of the question,” Harvey muttered, dropping the smudged cloche back onto the table. “I’m pretty sure the eggs have their own ecosystem.”

         Jim chuckled. Not looking up from the drawers he was rooting around in, he finally asked what had been on his mind for a little while now. “So,” he started, “what exactly is the problem you have with Oswald?”

         Leaning against the front desk, Harvey snorted. “Well, for one thing, the guy’s a bit of a freak,” he said. At Jim’s unimpressed look, he sighed. “And like I said, he works for Fish Mooney. She’s, uh, well she’s not just a nightclub owner. She’s a mob boss. Works directly under Don Falcone who, by the way, basically runs the city. So anyone that works for her is bad news.”

         Jim shoved the final drawer shut. There had been a whole lot of nothing. “Hm. Maybe, but it doesn’t sound like you know him personally either. Maybe he is just an umbrella boy, or whatever.”

         “Uh-huh,” Harvey scoffed. “Or maybe those big ‘innocent’ eyes of his have you fooled.”

         It was an easy decision to ignore that remark. Jim led the way back outside, and his gaze landed on a vending machine. “Hey, you think anything in there would be worth grabbing?”

         Harvey scratched his beard. “Worth a shot.”

         They unplugged the machine and tipped it over. Once again thankful for the crowbar, Jim smashed the glass and freed the snacks. The two grabbed as much as they could and headed back to the room.

         “I was so excited to finally open my own gallery,” Barbara sighed, resting her chin in her hand. She sat on the edge of one of the beds.

         Oswald sat primly on the edge of the other, hands clasped together in his lap. He made a sympathetic noise and nodded. “I’m sure it would have been lovely. A shame, really. Maybe once this all blows over you’ll get the chance again.” They both turned when Jim and Harvey entered the room.

         “Not exactly a feast, but it’ll do,” Harvey said, dumping his haul on the dusty table by the window.

         “Thank you. It’s appreciated,” Oswald said, his smile sincere. It turned sweet when Jim brought him a bag of Ruffles chips. “Barbara was just telling me about the gallery she owned. It sounds like it was very impressive.”

         Barbara waved her hand dismissively, though she looked pleased. “Oh, please. Enough about me, you haven’t exactly told us much about yourself.”

         Jim hummed in agreement as he unwrapped a Kit Kat. He’d been wondering about Oswald as well.

         Oswald shrugged and smiled again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing to say. My life isn’t exactly interesting.”

         “I doubt that,” Barbara said with a little laugh. Jim’s eyes narrowed a little. He recognized the laugh from the many times she’d used it around her peers. Specifically, women she wanted to humiliate.

         “Well,” Oswald sighed, “Bullock already mentioned I work for Miss Mooney. I… It’s embarrassing to admit, really, but I also work part time at a restaurant. Not that the restaurant is bad! It’s actually quite nice, but, well, a dishwasher isn’t exactly an esteemed job.” His smiles were nervous and he plucked at his bloodied sleeves. “But it paid the bills. Kept me and—and Mother in our home.”

         At Harvey’s snort, Jim shot him a glare.

         “You live with your mother?” Barbara asked, eyes wide with interest, tone saccharine. “How nice.”

         Oswald crushed the bag in his grip. “Thank you. I think now would be a good time to rest. Long day, after all. I’m sure you’d appreciate the beauty sleep as well.”

         Their smiles reminded Jim of sharks. “Sleep sounds like a good idea, since we’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

         “I call couch,” Harvey announced, plopping down on the musty brown lump.

         Jim sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll take first watch then. Harvey, you’ll be taking the later one.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


         Oswald shot up in bed, chest heaving. He wiped at his eyes and looked around. Everyone else was still asleep, even Bullock who was supposed to be on watch. Clambering out of bed, Oswald slipped silently from the room. A zombie was shuffling around across the street, so he limped to the car and shut himself in.

         Alone now, Oswald allowed himself to cry. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his middle, as misery wracked his body. Over and over again, Oswald had watched himself kill his mother. Watched her beg for help, for him to stop, and yet he’d stab her, shoot her, bash her head in. He knew, of course, it had just been a nightmare. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

         He’d killed his own mother. Oswald wondered if this was some sort of punishment for working for Miss Mooney. For not turning her in for her multiple crimes. Maybe if he’d actually been the good person Mother had thought he was, she’d still be alive.

         A tap on the glass had Oswald jumping out of his skin. Relief flooded through him when he saw it was Jim. Letting his hand drop from his chest, he opened the door.

         “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Jim said, brows furrowed. “When I got up and saw you missing… You can’t just wander off.”

         Oswald turned his head with a huff. “As you can see, I just came here. Fresh air and all.” He hoped that would be it and Jim would just go back inside. However, his hopes were dashed.

         “You’ve been crying,” Jim observed, tone softening just a touch.

         “How astute, James.” Oswald stood and tried to step around him, but Jim blocked the way. Frowning up at him, he couldn’t help but once again curse his short stature. It made being intimidating so much harder. “Do you mind?”

         Jim’s hand on his arm kept him from trying to leave again. “If it was something Barbara said...”

         Oswald almost laughed, but it was touching, Jim’s concern. “Hardly.” He dropped his gaze and leaned back against the car, taking some weight off his leg.

         “Then what?” Jim asked, resting his hands on his hips.

         Oswald breathed in heavily, trying to steady his emotions. He didn’t know why, but he felt out of anyone in their group, perhaps out of anyone he knew, Jim would be sympathetic. Oswald looked up into the deep cobalt of Jim’s eyes. “I was traveling with my mother when all this—” he gestured at the world around them “—happened. We were fine for a couple of days, but then a herd of those zombies caught up with us. She… She was bitten. I didn’t know it was lethal. I hoped I could get her back to Gotham, find a doctor, and everything would work out.” Oswald bit back a fresh wave of despair, shoulders shaking. “She died. And then she came back. I—I had to kill her.”

         “Oswald...” Jim’s low murmur didn’t really register.

         A hand clapped over his mouth, gaze distant, Oswald continued, “I buried her there. At the museum we’d been staying at. In a lovely little garden out back. She’d have loved it.” He looked back at Jim with a wan smile and a feeble laugh. “There, and now you know my sob story.”

         Before Jim could respond, the door opened and Harvey leaned out. “There you are! The hell are you doing out here?”

         Jim turned. “Oswald needed fresh air. He managed to get by you, so how come you weren’t keeping watch?”

         Harvey rubbed at his chin. “Touche.” His eyes flicked past them. “Zombies at six o’clock. Guess we’d better get out of here now.”

         Oswald looked over his shoulder and sure enough, three of them were ambling across the road in their direction. The one comforting thought he could muster was that at least his mother hadn’t ended up like them. Wandering forever, hungering for flesh.

         And now he had to continue on. For her. For himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people are enjoying this fic! Hopefully you all like this chapter, too. :)

         Rain pelted the windshield, too fast for the wipers to do their job. Sheets of it rolled over the windows, swept down the road, and sprayed up from the tires. The car bumped over something big. A zombie was thrown to the side, its arm ripping off and sliding over the hood.   
         “This is a goddamn pain in the ass,” Harvey complained, swerving right to keep the car from slipping off into the surrounding forest. “We can’t keep driving in this!”  
         Jim shook his head. “What else are we going to do? We can’t walk in it either.”  
         But it seemed like that was what fate had in mind. Another zombie hit the car. Harvey shouted, spun the wheel, and sent the car careening over the edge of the road and into a tree. The horn blared as Harvey slammed into the steering wheel. Jim was flung forward, only to be caught by his seatbelt with a grunt. Oswald and Barbara yelped from the back. Someone smacked into the back of a seat.   
         Harvey shoved himself back, cutting off the horn, and struggled to see out of the window. “Shit. Shit!” He threw his hat down onto his lap and sighed. “Looks like we’re walking.”  
         “No!” Barbara exclaimed, peering between the seats. “You can’t be serious!”  
         “We don’t have a choice,” Jim said. He pointed out the window, where blurry shapes staggered towards them. “That horn caught some attention. We have to go. Now.”  
         They clambered from the wrecked car, grabbed what they could carry, and headed further into the trees and away from the gathering zombies. The leaves and pine needles underfoot were slick, and every branch one of them moved out of the way flung water back into their faces.   
         “Jim, we gotta hurry!” Harvey shouted over the rain. The fact that the snarls and growls of the zombies were audible over it proved just how close they were.  
         And Jim agreed. But they had no idea where they were, where they were going, or if they would just end up in a worse situation. They didn’t have a choice. The unknown was better than the known at this point.   
         Stumbling through the wet gloom, Jim led them in a zig-zag path in the hopes that they would lose the zombies. Without losing themselves, preferably. More than they were already lost. A large, dark shadow in the distance appeared between the trees.  
         “This way!” Jim called back, leading the way over. As they got closer, the shack got clearer.  
         Moss had taken over an entire wooden wall and was creeping its way over the lopsided roof. Broken planks of wood, a tire, and cracked bottles littered the front of the place. The wooden steps creaked and tilted as Jim and Harvey climbed onto the porch.   
         The windows were clouded over with layers of dirt and cracked to the point that neither of them could see inside. Jim went back to the door and pressed a finger to his lips. Getting a nod from Harvey, Jim knocked on the door.   
         “What the fuck?” Harvey mouthed with a frown.  
         His question was answered a moment later by a loud, but muffled growl. Harvey grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The zombie lunged at them, but Jim killed it with a well-aimed hit to the head with the crowbar.  
         “I’ll check inside,” Jim said, before disappearing into the dark shack. Light managed to filter in through the dirty windows and through some holes in the ceiling, but it was still difficult to see. Every warped floorboard groaned under his footsteps and junk scattered about threatened to trip him up.  
         Patting here and there, Jim made his way through a small kitchen and over to what might have been the living room, based on the couch and chair. There was a vaguely human shape slumped in the chair. Jim inched close and nudged it with the crowbar.  
         It didn’t move.  
         Not a zombie.  
         Still, if they were going to stay there, the body had to be moved. Jim grabbed the corpse under the arms and hauled it out of the shack. Dumping it on the ground outside, he could see the man’s jaw was gone. Shot off. Grimacing, Jim turned to face the others. “Let’s go in. It’s safe.”  
         Everyone scrambled inside and out of the downpour. Jim and Harvey found bits of scrap paper they could burn in bowls to light the place properly. Oswald wrinkled his nose as he dusted off the couch with what was, in all truth, an equally dusty towel. It sort of helped. Barbara checked the bedroom for anything useful. Unfortunately, the blanket was moth-eaten and smelled faintly of mold. The bathroom was made off limits when the putrid odor wafted out of it the moment she opened the door.    
         It wasn’t great, but it would work. They could all agree it was better than being out in the rain. Jim passed around a couple of bags of chips, some jerky, and two water bottles. Their rations were slimming by the day.   
         “I don’t suppose you have a plan?” Barbara asked, sitting on the very edge of the couch. Her lips were twisted into a small frown.   
         Harvey snorted. “I think staying here until the rain stops is the plan.” He crossed his arms. “Unless you want to go out looking for a road in this?”  
         “That’s not what I meant,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “It just seems like we aren’t getting anywhere, and now we’ve lost the car… Excuse me for not wanting to wander in circles.”  
         Jim paced, hands on his hips. “We’re all frustrated. I think we can all agree this isn’t great.” He rubbed at his mouth as he thought over the possibilities. “If we can, we should head for a city. Otherwise, any major landmark would help. That way we can pinpoint what direction we need to go in.”  
         “Cities are going to be more dangerous, but as long as we’re smart about it, that seems like our best option,” Oswald agreed as he settled on the opposite side of the couch. He folded his hands together in his lap and looked up at Jim. “Luckily, there aren’t too many of us. We should be able to get in and out of any city relatively unnoticed.”  
         “At this point, any of those signs with a ‘You Are Here’ mark would work,” Harvey muttered as he flopped down into the chair, leaving Jim to situate himself between Barbara and Oswald.   
         Jim nodded. They’d just have to do their best in the morning. Hopefully by then the rain would be gone, along with any lingering zombies. “We’ll figure it out.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
         The rain continued into the next day. In fact, it had gotten worse. Thunder rolled overhead and lighting lit up the sky. Food was running low, they only had one bottle of water left, and there was nothing else safe to burn.   
         “It just keeps getting better,” Bullock grumbled, flinching as rain hit the back of his neck. “That hole wasn’t there last night!”  
         Oswald rolled his eyes. He wondered if Bullock ever stopped complaining. “We have a roof over our heads. I think we should count ourselves lucky.”  
         “Lucky until we starve,” Barbara remarked, going to glare out one of the filthy windows. “Or until this place collapses in on itself.” She gave an angry huff and stormed into the bedroom.  
         Jim grimaced and, after a moment of hesitation, he followed after her. Crossing his arms, Oswald stared at the door. He wondered how the two met. They didn’t seem like the type of people who ran in the same social circles. She seemed more...refined and snobby. It was astonishing that she hadn’t been killed yet. Not that Oswald was one to judge survival skills, he supposed.  
         Oswald watched Bullock out of the corner of his eyes. The man was trying to dry out his hat. His eyes flicked back to the bedroom door. Oswald made his way closer and stopped by the window Barbara had looked out of earlier. From there, he could just make out Jim and Barbara’s voices.  
         “...disgusting! It’s been, what, almost two weeks since I’ve showered?” Barbara sounded on the verge of tears. “We’ve been scrounging for food, avoiding getting eaten by the dead, and just to get to some city that might be destroyed!”  
         Jim’s tired sigh was audible even from where Oswald stood. “I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t how it should have gone, but I can’t do anything about it. Not out here in the middle of nowhere. What do you want me to do?”  
         “How should I know?” Barbara retorted. “I just want things to return to normal. I know they won’t, but still… This is all too much sometimes. We haven’t had a chance to just stop and get used to what’s happening.”  
         Oswald slipped back to the couch and sat. Part of him sympathized with Barbara. He wanted things to be normal again, too. But another part of him scoffed at her. She was concerned with taking a shower, with not having her perfect life, and she hadn’t suffered true loss. He didn’t see what she had to whine about.  
         “Hey! There’s movement outside!” Bullock shouted.  
         The bedroom door opened and Jim and Barbara hurried out. “Zombies?” Jim asked.  
         “Looks like it,” Bullock replied, squinting through the window. “We’ll have to go. That door isn’t going to hold them back.”  
         “You want us to go out in this?” Barbara asked, appalled as she gestured at the storm.   
         “We don’t have a choice,” Jim said. He began grabbing their things. “Come on.”  
         There wasn’t much left to take with them, and so it didn’t take long until they ended up back outside. For a moment it seemed as though the zombies hadn’t noticed. But then the snarling got louder.  
         Oswald ignored the pain in his leg as they trekked through the woods. The cold rain certainly didn’t help, but he didn’t have a choice. A snag on his coat made him yelp. He turned and tugged it free, just as three zombies came into view.   
         Jim, Barbara, and Bullock hadn’t noticed. They were too far ahead. Grimacing, Oswald limped faster, using the thin trees to balance himself. The hill just added an extra challenge. Huffing, he struggled up the sharp incline. His foot slipped in the mud. Oswald crashed to the ground and slid backwards. His fingers grasped at a tree, but he couldn’t get a hold. Oswald’s foot shot out and jammed against another tree, stopping his descent and shooting pain up his leg.  
         “No,” Oswald whimpered, scrabbling in the mud as he tried to get up. It splattered into his face, making him flinch. A hacking growl had him looking over his shoulder.    There were more of them. One of the zombies lurched toward him. “Jim!”  
         He patted at his pockets and pulled out a knife. As the zombie lunged, he stabbed it in the eye. The momentum sent him off balance and he slid further down. Oswald caught himself on a root, his knife falling away. Another zombie snapped at his ankles, but the mud wasn’t just a hazard for Oswald. It slipped and tumbled backward into one of the others.  
         A shout made Oswald look up. Jim was hurrying down the hill as fast as he could without slipping. Relief washed over Oswald as he pushed himself up. Jim grabbed him by the hand and hauled him up, the both of them staggering back as Oswald practically collapsed in Jim’s arms. “You came back,” he gasped.  
Bullock’s yell as he ran past them to take out the remaining zombies interrupted them. Jim shook his head and slid down to help. They managed to take out all four, and then they were heading back up the hill.  
         “This is insane, Jim,” Barbara snapped once they were on even ground. She jabbed a finger at Oswald. “He’s falling behind! You’ve saved his life twice now, and for what? What use is he? The freak is slowing us down! We should just go on without him!”  
         Oswald was stunned, but only for a moment. He bared his teeth. “What use am I? If we’re going to start pointing fingers at people who aren’t pulling their weight, let’s start with you,” he hissed, pushing past Jim to stand face to face with Barbara. “Always sitting around, waiting for Jim and Bullock to do everything for you while you’re complaining and nitpicking. Poor little rich girl doesn’t get a shower every day, life must be so hard for you!” Oswald was seething, his lip curled in a snarl. “At least when we get to Gotham I’ll be able to get us to safety!”  
         Jim stepped between them. “Stop, right now!” he demanded. “Back off, Oswald.”  
         Lips thinning, Oswald took a few steps back. Maybe he should have held his temper, but being called a freak… Of course Jim and Bullock would side with Barbara. They’d known her longer. She was “normal”.  
         Barbara’s smug smirk was wiped clean off when Jim turned to face her. “We aren’t leaving Oswald behind. That’s as good as killing him,” he said, frowning. “I don’t know what you have against him, but this needs to be over. All of us are going to Gotham, and that’s final.”  
         And with that, Jim stormed past them. Oswald followed on his heels, a warmth spreading through him despite the rain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's commented and given kudos! I really do appreciate it and it motivates me to keep going. :)
> 
> Also, as always, thank you to thekeyholder for betaing this!

         Moonlight spilled through the cracked windows of the small, empty factory. It had likely been abandoned long before the zombies had shown up. Though there were a few signs of people having strayed through it here and there, it was clear no-one was using it currently.

         Harvey had fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d deemed the place safe enough for the night. Barbara had ignored them all until she, too, eventually fell asleep. Which left just Jim and Oswald awake.

         Oswald leaned against the brick wall, watching through the window. He’d offered to take the first watch. Jim assumed it was because he wanted to prove he was useful. As tired as Jim was, there was something that needed to be discussed.

         “Hey,” Jim said, keeping his voice to a low murmur.

         “Oh!” Oswald startled. He looked up at Jim with wide eyes. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? I really don’t mind taking the first watch.”

         Shaking his head, Jim moved to stand across from him, so he could also keep an eye on the outside. “We need to talk.”

         Worry furrowed Oswald’s brows and he gave a nod. “Of course. What about?”

         “I want you to be honest with me,” Jim said, looking him in the eyes. “Were you eavesdropping on the conversation I had with Barbara? Back at that shack?”

         Oswald opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I… I will admit I did  _ overhear _ some things,” he replied, peering up at Jim now through his bangs as he ducked his head. “But to be fair, considering the way she’s been treating me, I thought I should be aware of whether she was talking about me behind my back.”

         Jim stepped into Oswald’s space, gritting his teeth. “Our conversations are none of your business,” he snapped. “And even if she did say something about you, do you think I would have left you behind?”

         “No!” Oswald exclaimed. He winced and glanced in the direction of Harvey and Barbara. When they didn’t wake, he looked back at Jim. “Of course not, Jim. You’ve been so kind to me, and I do appreciate it.” His lashes fluttered and his sea-green eyes became watery. “You must understand that I haven’t exactly had the best experience with other people. Mother was the only one I could ever truly trust… It’s how I’ve survived so long. By being just a bit paranoid and knowing my place within society.”

         Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim sighed. If Oswald started crying, he didn’t know how to handle it. “Oswald.”

         Oswald shuffled closer. “I  _ am _ sorry for violating your privacy, Jim.” His eyes narrowed, suddenly cold and dry. “However, I’m not sorry for surviving. You don’t get far in Gotham by trusting everyone you meet. Information of all kinds is invaluable, James.” The smile returned, soft and sweet as Oswald relaxed. “But you… You saved my life.  _ Twice. _ And that is something I won’t forget. I help my friends, Jim. So don’t you worry. When we get to Gotham, I will do my very best to make sure we’re safe.”

         Whiplashed was the best way to describe how Jim felt in that moment. Oswald had managed to go from simpering and sad, to menacing, to friendly and warm. Maybe Harvey had had a point when he said Oswald wasn’t as innocent as he seemed. Jim frowned and passed a hand over his mouth, thinking. Despite the shifts in mood, Oswald seemed sincere enough in his claim of considering them friends. If only Jim knew how to feel about that.

         “It won’t happen again, I promise,” Oswald said earnestly. “I know I can trust you, so it’s not necessary.”

         Jim sighed. “Fine. You’d better keep that promise, Oswald.”

         Oswald nodded, smiling brightly. “Of course, my friend. Now, you should go sleep, it is still my watch. Besides, as our fearless leader, you need to be in tip top shape.”

_          Fearless leader. _ Trying not to grimace, Jim gave a curt nod and walked away. Things were getting more and more complicated.

 

* * *

 

         Jim directed everyone into the store as quickly and quietly as possible. He hadn’t stopped to look at the name, only that it wouldn’t be spotted by the many zombies wandering through the small city they’d found themselves in. They’d passed Mt. Pocono at some point, so they at least had an idea where they were going. That was about all they had going for them at the moment.

         The store turned out to be a local clothing shop. Jim sighed as they checked through the racks for any threats. Maybe with a change of clothes, they’d all be less likely to fight. Especially Barbara and Oswald, who’d been shooting glares at each other nonstop. Along with a few pointed comments.

         While Barbara tried on more practical clothes and Oswald looked for some of his own, Harvey wandered over. “How long before you think one of them’ll try and kill the other?” he asked.

         “That’s not funny,” Jim said, frowning.

         Harvey snorted. “I wasn’t joking.” He patted Jim’s shoulder. “Hey, once we get to Gotham, get somewhere safe, maybe we’ll all be able to relax a little. I think we can survive ‘til then.”

         Jim allowed himself a small smile. Despite Harvey not exactly helping with the tensions between Oswald and Barbara, he had been helpful and he’d stuck around. He was grateful for the help, honestly.

         A thud came from the front of the store. Voices followed it. At least five, and one sounded annoyed. It was too muffled to make out what was being said, though it was clearly a man speaking.

         “Go get Barbara and Oswald,” Jim whispered. “I’ll see what these people want.”

         Harvey nodded and snuck between the racks of clothes. Jim crept towards the front of the store, being careful to stay hidden. He leaned around one of the shelves.

         Three men wandered around the front. They were talking among themselves and joking as they took things off the shelves and pushed through various clothing racks. A woman hopped over the front desk and rifled through the storage behind it.

         “That car out there, is it running yet?” another woman asked, holding up a shirt and looking it over.

         “Nope,” one of the men said, glancing out of one of the large windows. “Not yet. It’s got some good shit in it, though.”

         It had to be their car. Jim didn’t think there were many others right outside the store. Crap. He could either continue to hide and they might find him or take their car, or he could confront them. They didn’t appear to be carrying guns, but that didn’t mean they weren’t armed.

         “Don’t shoot!” Jim demanded before he stood properly and revealed himself, crowbar in hand.

         One of the women aimed a gun at him, while the others all pulled out baseball bats, an ax, and a machete.

         “Who the hell are you?” a man with a goatee asked, eyes narrowed.

         “Just a survivor. I heard you talking about the car outside,” Jim replied. “But you should know it belongs to my group.”

         A bald man with a tattoo of a skull on his arm sneered. “That right?”

         “Yeah. That’s right.”

         “Well, guess it’s ours now,” the woman with the gun said with a snort. “’Cause I don’t see your ‘group’ anywhere. Do you, Frank?”

         “Nah. Looks like he’s alone,” Frank—a tall man with broad shoulders who was wielding an ax—said, smirking.

         “You weren’t looking very hard, then.” Harvey stepped up beside Jim, gun raised. Oswald and Barbara were behind him. Jim could see the glint of a knife in Oswald’s hand. They weren’t completely at these strangers’ mercy it seemed.

         Skull Tattoo glared at them. “Doesn’t matter, we outnumber you. That means that car and everything in it is ours.” He took a step closer. “Unless you wanna try your luck?”

         Jim glanced at Harvey. Once Harvey saw, he pointedly looked at the woman by the register. Harvey gave an imperceptible nod. “Now!”

         Harvey shot. Jim swung the crowbar at Frank, who blocked it with his ax. More gunshots rang out, but from what side Jim couldn’t tell. He ducked to the side and the ax grazed the front of his suit. Jim twisted and crashed his crowbar into Frank’s back. He grunted and stumbled.

         Oswald grappled with Skull Tattoo for a moment, before Oswald slashed his throat, his eyes wide and panicked. The man gagged and crumpled to the ground.

         “Go, go, go! Get out!” Jim shouted, seeing Harvey grabbing the woman’s gun from where she’d dropped it. She wailed on the ground, clutching her bleeding hand. He turned and shot one of the other men running at him.

         A hand grabbed his ankle and he was yanked backwards. Jim hit the ground hard, the air being forced from his lungs with a wheeze. Frank’s meaty fist collided with his face.

         “Jim!” Barbara cried.

         The crowbar was no longer in his hands. Jim lifted his arms just as another blow came towards his eye. It never landed. Jim lowered them and turned to see a knife sticking out of Frank’s head. Blood spurted from his mouth and he toppled over. Jim scrambled out from under him to see Oswald standing there, panting and wild-eyed.

         Jim got to his feet, and stumbled away from the body. There was a gasp of exertion and the wet squelch of the knife being pulled free. A growl echoed through the store.

         Skull Tattoo sat up, eyes white and empty. His lip curled in a snarl.

         “Come on!” Jim grabbed Oswald’s wrist and hauled him along behind him as he ran after Harvey and Barbara. He hated to think it, but Skull Tattoo would probably deal with the woman Harvey had shot. They wouldn’t need to worry about those people coming after them, or anyone else they might know.

         “Shit! No!” Harvey shouted as they stopped out on the sidewalk. Jim could only agree.

         A horde of zombies, numbering somewhere around fifty, were gathering in the street. The sound of the guns had drawn them out. Their car was too far away; it would be swarmed within seconds. Now their only option was to run.

         Screaming from inside the store confirmed Jim’s earlier thoughts. And further attracted the zombies. Their growls and groans grew louder.

         Jim looked around. “This way.” He led them down the sidewalk towards one of the side-streets. Only to run into more zombies.

         “Fuck it.” Harvey shot one that swiped for Jim. “Just run!”

         That was all they could do. Looking every which-way for an escape route, they ran down the streets. Cars would take too long to hot-wire. That side-street led to a dead end. Zombies just kept coming.

         “Dammit!” Jim swore. It was getting harder to see with blood dripping into his eye. There had to be a way out of the city. He spotted a clear alley. “This way!” He charged down the narrow alleyway. He could see the other side was just as clear of zombies. Jim hoped it stayed that way.

         A scream had Jim spinning around.

         Barbara pulled away from a zombie that had grabbed her arm. Harvey shot a second one that lunged for her neck. Another shot, another zombie. Then a click. Harvey tried to shoot again, but nothing happened. The gun was out of bullets.

         “No!” Jim shouted. He let go of Oswald’s arm and ran. Harvey grabbed him and pulled him back. “Let go!”

         “Stop! We can’t!”

         The mass of zombies were clawing at Barbara as she tried desperately to get away.

         “Jim!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Help!  _ Help!” _

         Jim struggled against Harvey as she disappeared within the horde. “NO!” But Harvey didn’t let go. He hauled him through the alley and towards freedom. Away from Barbara’s desperate pleas. “We have to help her! Let me help her!”

         There was no way to help her. Not without getting torn apart by the horde themselves. Jim elbowed Harvey in the ribs. He let go. Jim ran forward, only to be grabbed again. Oswald held onto his other arm and together, he and Harvey pulled Jim away.

         Barbara’s screams echoed in their ears.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone, but I hope this chapter makes up for it.

         Oswald looked between Harvey and Jim, then out at the open road. They had managed to get to an old house far away from the city before needing to stop. Jim hadn’t said a word to either of them, had barely blinked. Harvey paced in the kitchen, deep in thought about something or other.

         There were conflicting emotions swirling in Oswald’s heart as he moved to sit beside Jim on the lumpy cream couch; relief at no longer having to deal with Barbara, guilt for that relief because Jim was clearly in pain, and worry for Jim’s mental state. What if he never moved on from what happened? Oswald couldn’t let Jim waste away, or—heaven forbid—kill himself.

         Harvey’s heavy footsteps approached. “We’ll stay here for the night. I think we’re getting close to Gotham, though.” He looked down at Jim. Lifting his hat, Harvey ran his fingers through his hair, scratched his neck, sighed. “Jim?”

         No response. Jim just sat, head in his hands, staring at the floor.

         Gritting his teeth, Harvey turned to Oswald. “This is your fault,” he said, pointing a thick finger at him.

         “Excuse me? How is this my fault?” Oswald snapped, surging up from his seat. “I saved Jim’s _life!_ Or did you not notice?”

         “If Jim didn’t have to worry about your leg, he could have gotten to Barbara in time,” Harvey replied, throwing his hands up. “If we hadn’t taken you with us, Barbara would still be here and Jim wouldn’t be fucked in the head right now! Saving you was the worst decision he ever made.”

         Oswald’s lip curled, but before he could make a scathing retort, Jim was standing between them.

         “Both of you shut up,” he growled. Jim glared at Harvey. “This wasn’t Oswald’s fault. If anything, it was mine.”

         “Jim,” Oswald said softly, eyes wide.

         “I had us get in that fight. If we’d just snuck out of that store instead, we could’ve gotten away. Barbara...” Jim closed his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. Whatever energy he’d had bled out of him.

         Turning a glare on Harvey as if to say “Look what you did”, Oswald sat beside Jim again. “I am incredibly sorry, Jim. What happened was horrific, but it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. What it was was an accident. A cruel accident.”

         Jim turned his head enough to frown at him. “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

         Oswald flinched. “Of course. My apologies.” He stood and limped into the kitchen. “I’ll just see if there’s anything to eat here, shall I?” Oswald didn’t expect, or receive, a response.

         As he looked through the cabinets and pantry, Oswald could hear Harvey speaking quietly to Jim. The temptation to eavesdrop was strong, but he resisted. With Jim’s volatile temper, right now was not the time to test his patience. The more he stayed in his good graces, the less likely Jim would change his mind about him and leave him behind.

         Winter was approaching quickly, as evidenced by the frigid temperature of the house that night. Harvey had suggested making a fire, but Jim had said that might draw unwanted attention. As much as Oswald wanted that fire, and his leg was aching more than usual without it, he agreed. The house they were in was right on the road. A fire would easily be seen by zombies or other people and none of them were prepared for a fight.

         “What exactly is the plan once we get to Gotham?” Harvey asked.

         Jim roused from whatever dark thoughts had been clouding his mind and looked at them. “Oswald said he knew people that might help us out. If that’s true, then we just need to set up a base. A safe zone. That’s the most important thing to start with.”

         Oswald smiled and nodded. “Yes, if I can get Miss Mooney to agree, there would be no safer place to be, I guarantee it, Jim.”

         “Right.” Jim sighed. “Then I guess we’d figure it out from there. I don’t know how big Gotham is, but if we can clear it of zombies then it could at least become a safe haven of sorts. Since it’s surrounded by water, once it’s clear we’d be pretty damn safe.”

         Harvey grunted. “Easier said than done. Like I told you before, even without the whole dead walking thing? Gotham was a cesspit.”

         “That’s why we go to Miss Mooney. She has connections. Ones that prefer order over chaos,” Oswald pointed out. He rubbed absently at his leg. “Mostly.”

         “Which is what we’re counting on,” Jim agreed. “I’d like to hope that in the face of something like this, we all can put aside our differences and take on the real problem.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Once again, their way was blocked by a herd in some town. Oswald peered around the bus they’d hidden behind, then glanced back at Jim. He’d been in one of his bad moods again—he seemed to swing between either sullen and despondent, and pissed off—so Oswald hoped they could use that to their advantage.

         “It doesn’t look like there’s a good way around them. Too many blocked off areas,” Bullock said, joining them again. He’d offered to scout around nearby for any exits.

         “Damn,” Jim muttered, lip curling in annoyance.

         “There has to be a way past them,” Oswald said, mostly to himself. He’d been watching the zombies, observing them, and an idea was starting to form.

         Bullock snorted. “I _just_ said there wasn’t.”

         “Past might be the wrong word. What if there was a way through them?” Oswald looked at Jim. “We know they are attracted to loud noises or by sight. What if they also smell us?”

         Jim frowned, looking considering. “What are you getting at?”

         “It won’t be pleasant, but...” Oswald sighed. “What if we disguised ourselves as one of them? Cover ourselves in some of their blood and guts, move like they do, and maybe we could sneak past them. Right under their noses.”

         “That’s sick! I always knew something wasn’t right in the head with you, but I didn’t think suicide was something you’d ever suggest.” Bullock shook his head, looking horrified. He turned to Jim. “Jimbo? No, I don’t like that look. Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this?”

         Jim, however, wasn’t listening to him. “We’d need to be able to grab one of them without alerting the others.”

         “Christ! I’m surrounded by crazies,” Bullock muttered.

 

         Oswald grimaced as Jim dragged the zombie’s body into the alleyway. While it had been his idea, he was absolutely dreading drenching himself in gore. But no-one had had any better ideas.

         “I’ll keep an eye out while you do… whatever it is you have to,” Bullock said, moving to the end of the alley.

         Jim pulled the ax from his belt—a useful weapon he’d happened across two towns back—and stared down at the corpse. His frown was determined, but Oswald could see even he appeared disgusted by the task. Still, Jim crouched down and hacked into the stomach.

         Every squelch and squish made bile rise in the back of Oswald’s throat. Luckily, it was over with quickly, and Jim was tucking his ax back into his belt.

         “Okay. I guess we’ll have to get as much of this on us as possible,” Jim said, eyeing the bloody mass dubiously.

         “Great,” Bullock grunted as he walked back over.

         Jim dug his hands into the stomach of the zombie and hauled out its guts. He smeared the blood over his cheeks and forehead, before slapping whatever gore he could get onto his clothes. Oswald winced as he knelt on the ground. He reached for the body, but a bloody hand stopped him.

         “Stand up. I’ll help you out. You need to be able to move right, especially if this doesn’t work and we need to run,” Jim said, helping Oswald to his feet.

         Oswald closed his eyes as Jim swiped blood over his face. If it wasn’t, well, _blood_ , then it might have been nice feeling Jim caressing his face. But it _was_ blood, and it smelled foul. He heard Bullock digging around in the corpse as well and he was quite sure he’d never get the sounds out of his head.

         “Alright, just a couple more things and I think we’ll be good,” Jim said. He grabbed bits of intestine and draped them around their shoulders like some kind of disturbing scarves. “There.”

         “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Oswald replied, shuddering.

         “For once I agree with you,” Bullock said, shaking his head.

         The three snuck out of the alleyway and back behind the broken down bus. Jim watched for a moment, turned to them and nodded, then slowly crept out into the street. Oswald and Bullock followed close behind.

         For once, Oswald was grateful for his limp. It added to the zombie effect, since many of the herd walked in a similar manner. One bumped into his shoulder and growled. Oswald fought back the panic and groaned back. The zombie moved on, only to be replaced by more that wandered aimlessly on by. The blood was tacky on his skin, though some threatened to drip into his eyes.

         Putrid breath hit Oswald in the face as one of the zombies stopped in front of him. Oswald choked and stumbled out of the way. And right into Jim. A hand pressed against his back, righting him again. Luckily, it hadn’t alerted any of the zombies.

         “Fuck!”

         Jim and Oswald turned to see Bullock burst through a cluster of zombies. Cover blown, the three of them ran. Oswald yelped as he was yanked backwards. A zombie had a hold of the intestines around his shoulders. Squirming, he managed to slip them off and leave the zombie behind.

         “This way!” Jim shouted, beating back a zombie with the butt of his ax. He led them out of the herd, down the road, and out of town.

 

         Oswald sighed in relief as he sunk down into the murky river. He scrubbed at his face and hands and neck, washing off whatever blood he could. They’d made sure the town was far behind them before searching out a water source.

         “One of those bastards was sniffing at me and I panicked, okay?” Bullock snapped, splashing water into his face.

         “I get it, but you could’ve gotten all of us killed,” Jim said, climbing out of the river to sit on a rock and dry off. “The plan was working fine.”

         Bullock sighed and trudged after him. “Yeah, I know. It was a good plan, but let’s hope we never have to do it again.”

         Climbing out of the river, Oswald squeezed the end of his sweater. “It’s better to have a backup plan, even one as unfortunate as that, then to continue going on blind. We know something now about our enemy we wouldn’t otherwise.”

         And that knowledge could be useful in many ways.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Stars twinkled in the blue-black sky, and a sharp breeze swept over the road. Oswald shivered, wishing they had been able to find a car that worked. He glanced around at the thinning tree line and the long, empty walk ahead. It looked familiar. “I think we’re close.”

         “Yeah?” Jim replied, looking at him.

         “You know, now that you mention it, this area does look familiar,” Bullock said. He sounded close to passing out. Not that Oswald could blame him, he wasn’t in a much better state himself.

         However, Jim seemed to gain a new burst of energy. “Then we need to hurry. The sooner we get there, the better.”

         Oswald grimaced, but picked up his pace. “I certainly hope that is the case.”

         The road continued for a while longer, before it stopped. Completely. Where a bridge had once stood, there was nothing but a few broken bits of metal and pavement that cracked and crumbled into the water far below.

         Across rough waters of the bay, rising from the mist of night, was a city skyline, soaring buildings climbing high into the sky. It was pitch black, but unmistakable to anyone who knew the city.

         Oswald’s hands clenched at his sides, a rush of emotions overcoming him. Sadness, hope, determination... He was home.

         “We’re here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, everyone, but thank you to those who have stuck with it. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> And as always, thank you to thekeyholder for betaing this. It'd be a mess without you. :)

         Jim walked along the edge of the water, Harvey’s heavy footsteps and Oswald’s uneven ones following along behind him. There had to be a way across. They’d come too far to give up now. “Oswald?”

         “Yes, Jim?” Oswald replied, hurrying just a little to catch up with him.

         “This would be as a last resort, but how good at swimming are you?” Jim asked, unable to keep himself from glancing at his damaged leg. Even without that being an issue, swimming to Gotham was less than ideal, given the temperature and the fact they might have to leave behind the few supplies they’d carried with them.

         Oswald thought for a moment, then nodded. “I admit, it would be unpleasant, but if it came down to it, I believe I could,” he said. He gave a small half smile. “But let’s hope we find another way, yes?”

         “Hey, maybe that could help,” Harvey spoke up.

         Jim turned to see him pointing a little to their right, at a small building with a dock that lead down to the water. “Good catch,” he replied.

         “I have my uses.” They made their way over, and Harvey broke open the door. “Ha! Bingo.”

         There were two boats left inside. Well, a kayak and a sailboat. “I’m thinking the kayak would be best, unless one of you knows how to work the sailboat,” Jim said.

         “Hardly,” Oswald huffed.

         “Kayak it is,” Harvey said, striding over to it.

         Oswald took the oars as Harvey and Jim pushed the kayak out of the boat house and into the dark water. Jim held it steady as they climbed in, before pushing off and hopping in himself. The kayak swayed, then steadied. Jim took one of the oars, Harvey took the other, and they began to paddle.

         “This better be worth it,” Harvey complained.

         Jim shrugged. “It has to be better than being where we were. Right?”

         “The familiar is always better,” Oswald said, shifting so he could watch the city. For a while, the only sounds were the slaps of the oars in the water, Harvey’s occasional grunt, and the cry of the seagulls passing overhead.

         “Over there, it looks like a place we can stop,” Jim said, gesturing with his chin. They brought the kayak around and came to a stop by a pier. Harvey and Jim hauled themselves out, then turned and helped Oswald up.

         “Finally,” Oswald huffed, adjusting his clothes and looking around. “I think I know where we are.”

         Harvey nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been here before. Popular place to dump bodies.” He gave Oswald a look.

         Oswald frowned. “Oh, you  _ really _ think I did something like that? Hardly.”

         “Stop,” Jim snapped. “Both of you. We need to work together and you two constantly arguing isn’t helping. Now, Oswald, where do we go?”

         “Fish Mooney’s club. I don’t know if she’s there, but it’s somewhere to start,” Oswald replied. “I only hope it’s a clear path.”

         “We’ll get there, even if it’s not. We’ve made it this far,” Jim assured, gesturing for Oswald to lead the way.

         The first block they came to was deserted. Much like the towns and cities they’d passed through before, it was littered with debris and cars were stopped in the middle of the road or crashed into poles and buildings. Bodies in various states of decay—not moving, truly dead—were strewn across the ground. There was a stifling silence, choking every bit of life out of the scene.

         Jim’s gaze flicked from building to building, alleyway to alleyway, on high alert, ax in hand. Harvey was doing much the same, gun at the ready. Oswald stopped, looked around, then pointed down a side street. Jim nodded and they followed him, and then ducked behind a flipped car. Harvey and Oswald joined him. 

         Just a few feet ahead, visible in the growing light of dawn, was a small herd of zombies. Jim peered over the side. They were in a cluster, their movements and growling suggested they had found a meal. He turned to Oswald. “Do we need to go this way?” he whispered.

         “Yes. It’s the shortest route. If we can get by, we only need to go three more blocks,” Oswald replied.

         “Shit,” Harvey muttered. He looked over, then ducked back down. “At least they look distracted. We should go now, before that changes. There’s another car to the left that we could get to.”

         Jim leaned around. The car wasn’t too far away. If they were quiet they could make it. He gestured for them to follow and hurried, crouched, toward the car.

         And made it.

         There was no time to feel relieved, however. They weren’t out of danger yet. Jim checked around the car to see the zombies were still feeding.

         A gasp and a hacking snarl had Jim whipping around. Oswald struggled to kick at a zombie that was crawling out from beneath the car. Jim buried his ax in its head, then lopped off the hand that was wrapped around Oswald’s ankle. Oswald grimaced and pried the rotten fingers off, then gave Jim a look of gratitude.

         “We need to find you a knife or something,” Jim said, turning back to the zombies across the street. “Come on.”

         They managed to get around the small herd, and Jim tried to ignore the sounds of them tearing into flesh. He didn’t look. He didn’t want to know who they were eating. Oswald directed them down another street, deserted again.

         Gunshots rang out. Then an explosion.

         “The hell?” Harvey exclaimed, looking around wildly.

         “It was from over there,” Jim said, pointing off to the right. “Seems like something we should avoid. That noise will have attracted zombies.”

         “Then it’s a good thing we weren’t headed that way,” Oswald said, continuing to the left. Jim and Harvey trailed after him, making sure they weren’t being hunted.

         Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a building. A broken neon sign of a fish skeleton was still hanging on the wall. Otherwise, the place looked plain and unassuming. Without it, and without Oswald or Harvey, Jim would have completely overlooked it.

         Oswald tried the door. It was locked. He looked left, then right, then knocked. Nothing. Oswald knocked louder. The door opened a crack.

         “Who is it?” came a low voice.

         “Oswald Cobblepot,” Oswald replied.

         The door swung open, and a large man filled the doorway. “Cobblepot? Man, I thought you’d be dead for sure,” the man said with a crooked grin. He looked past him. “Detective Bullock, too? And… Who’s this guy?”

         “Jim Gordon,” Jim said, stepping forward. “I met with Oswald and Harvey on the way here.”

         The man looked him over, seemed unimpressed, then looked back at Oswald. “Come on in. Miss Mooney will probably want to see you.”

         Oswald’s shoulder sagged in apparent relief. “Thank you.”

         “Don’t thank me yet.”

         They were led through a dark hallway and down a flight of stairs. Another man, muscular and angry looking, guarded a second door. The first man spoke to him, and the second one let them through.

         The room beyond looked untouched by the apocalypse outside. Red and gold, with a gleaming dark wood bar, plush seating, and a stage, the room was opulent in a tasteful way. Men and women were gathered inside, lounging, drinking, talking.

         At a gesture from the man, the three of them stopped. He made his way over to a booth nearest the stage, and leaned down to speak to someone. After a moment, a woman stood and sauntered over to them.

         She was beautiful with short, red tipped hair, dressed in a metallic gold jumpsuit, with rings sparkling on her fingers. Her dark brown eyes landed on Oswald, and her ruby lips parted in a wide smile. “Oswald! You really  _ are _ alive,” she cooed, grasping his arms, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

         “It’s so good to see you again, Miss Mooney,” Oswald simpered, returning her smile.

         Fish Mooney cupped his face. “And you made it all the way here. Clearly my teachings haven’t gone to waste.” She dropped her hands and turned to Harvey, effectively cutting Oswald from her attention. “And  _ Harvey, _ I knew you had to be somewhere.”

         Harvey removed his hat, suddenly polite in a way Jim hadn’t seen before. “Hello, Fish. No surprise that you’re still running this place,” he said with a chuckle.

         “Of course. Business is business. Morale is important during a crisis,” Fish replied, her hand landing gently on his arm. “Our business is especially useful. Though, having  _ you _ at the GCPD would have been helpful.”

         “I don’t know about that,” Harvey said, sheepish. He cleared his throat and gestured to Jim. “Speaking of the GCPD, this is Jim Gordon. He was going to be joining us. Before everything went to hell.”

         Fish turned her sharp gaze onto Jim. She stepped closer, eyes raking over him, calculating. “I see. Jim Gordon, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Fish Mooney, owner of this establishment,” she said, extending a hand.

         Jim shook it awkwardly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

         “Oh?” Fish arched an eyebrow. “Good things, I hope.”

         “Yes,” Jim replied. “Mostly that Oswald thought you could help us.”

         Fish crossed her arms and glanced back at Oswald, then looked back to Jim. “What sort of help are you expecting?”

         Oswald limped over. “Miss Mooney, I know it was presumptuous to assume you would, but I couldn’t think of anyone else. We need a place to stay, and food. We’ve been on the road for days, trying to get back to Gotham,” he said, pleaded.

         “And you think I have that to spare?” Fish asked, turning to face him. “You may be a son to me, Oswald, but this is not a charity. If I played favorites, who knows what sort of chaos would follow. Speaking of, you said you needed time off to help your mother. Is she around?”

         “...No.”

         Fish sighed sympathetically. “That really is too bad.” Her expression hardened again. “But still, resources are limited.”

         “Is there anything we can do to make you change your mind?” Jim asked with a frown.

         “Hmmm...” Fish looked at him, her head tilted slightly. “There is something, I’m sure. You and Harvey are both good fighters. Harvey even has a gun, which is quite valuable now. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask you to lend your skills to me now, would it.”

         “In what way?”

         Fish rested her hands on her hips. “Well, we need to clear more areas of the dead. We need people who can go out and find supplies, too. Far too many of my men have gone and not come back.”

         “What about Falcone?” Harvey asked.

         “Falcone left when things started to go bad. Maroni is dead, too,” Fish explained with a wave of her hand. “A lot has happened since the dead rose. But I am one of the few with a safe zone, and that is what matters here.”

         Jim supposed they didn’t have much of a choice then. At least at the moment. He didn’t like Fish, something just seemed very off. Not that she was being unreasonable, Jim could understand the position she was probably in, but there was just… He shook his head. “We could pull our weight, if we get shelter and food.”

         “Um, excuse me, Miss Mooney?” Oswald piped up, eyes wide and nervous. “I notice you didn’t mention me.”

         Fish smiled at him. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, that’s right. I am very sorry, but Oswald, you have no use. Maybe once, but with that limp?” She tutted. “You can’t stay.”

         “What!?”

         “You can’t do that!” Jim snapped, shoving into her personal space. “Oswald stays with us.”

         “That isn’t how this works,” Fish replied coolly. “Butch?”

         The man from before—Butch—strolled over and grabbed Oswald by the back of his shirt.

         “NO! Let me go, you giant buffoon!” Oswald snarled, flailing in Butch’s grip as he dragged him to the door. “FISH! You can’t do this to me! _ ” _

         Jim snatched Harvey’s gun, but before he could aim it at Fish, multiple guns from the men around the room were trained on him.

         “Goodbye, Oswald. I do hope you find someplace safe,” Fish called after him. At the slam of the door, she turned back to Jim and Harvey with a smirk. “Now, gentlemen, about our deal.” 


End file.
